


Zoned

by notenuffcaffeine



Series: Lost Causes [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Sentinel
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, M/M, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Sentinel Senses, Sentinel/Guide, Slow Build, Stiles-centric, agent mccall is a jerk, dead things don't stay dead, here thar be swear words, post-3B, things are never that simple, werewolf jail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 93,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2253078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenuffcaffeine/pseuds/notenuffcaffeine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The point is, Stiles, it's here in the sanctuary or within a week the hunters back home take care of you their way. This way, maybe you're screwed, but at least you're alive. After what happened to Al-"</p>
<p>"What the hell is a sanctuary? It's a hospital, you just said-" Stiles bit the inside of his mouth to make himself shut up. He wasn't going to freak out. He wasn't going to make their jobs easier. Scott's dad already treated him like a mental case.</p>
<p>"Hunters like the Argents have chosen a code, to hunt those who hunt. You hunted. Whether it was you or somebody who just looked a lot like you... They're just waiting on proof. For everyone's safety, you're here," the agent said.</p>
<p>"Until when?"</p>
<p>That one the agent didn't have an answer for. Stiles wanted to sic a werewolf on him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...or...</p>
<p>The Nogitsune was just a trigger switch.  Now Stiles can't turn it off. For some reason though, Derek can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so this happened. and it's sarcasticchick's fault again. 
> 
> People need to stop telling me things can't be done 'cause then I just have to find out if they really can be or not.
> 
> _____

The Nogitsune was gone. Stiles knew what it felt like to share brain space, to fight for control of his own thoughts and his own body. He knew the difference between his own personal strength and the will of the supernatural monster that had taken over control. He knew what it was like to lose. He remembered.

So when he started blacking out, ending up in the woods with no recollection of how he got there or even where he was, Stiles didn't blame the fox. He knew it wasn't a trick. He just ended up stuck in his own head, in a world of black and dark. No lockers. No classrooms. There was nothing testing him. There was something very, very wrong. And it was all him, just Stiles Stilinski and the Russian roulette better known as genetics. The problem was, they had already chased down the mental problems of his mother's and it was expensive. The nogi had fooled the machines and the bloodwork and image analysis. They couldn't afford to do it all again, and even if they could, the only diagnosis would be paranoia and delusional behavior, munchausen syndrome at best and insurance fraud at worst. Stiles would just have to accept that he was going crazy. Great.

"Stiles?" A familiar voice brought him back to himself. It was far away, behind a racket of noise and bright sunlight. A harsh thumping sound got steadily louder like drums or... Was that a heartbeat? If it was, it was panicked and fast. The voice saying his name got louder too. A hand shook his shoulder then and it was like his whole arm lit up in a shadow of pain from the pressure. Then the voice came in to better focus again and the noise all faded. "Stilinski! Are you okay?"

He blinked in the daylight and tried to focus. Stiles realized he couldn't breathe and figured out he was having a panic attack. From dead-nothing to an overloaded panic attack. Oh crap was he in trouble.

"Stiles? Calm down. You're safe-" Stiles twisted suddenly to find the source. It was Derek. And Stiles was breathing again, startled out of panic and then calmed by the familiar.

"Where am I?" It was the first thing Stiles thought to ask and even Derek caught the oddity of it.

"Look around," said the werewolf. He was a _werewolf_. He probably never got lost, relying on senses and awareness levels that came with teeth and ears and stupid sideburns. Stiles tried to look away from him but everything was too bright to see clearly. He shielded his eyes and tried again, squinting until he could focus. He stood right at the ravine edge in the preserve, just a foot away from a fatal fall. The trees were behind him and he stared out at an open air clearing, big open space and a high vantage point that overlooked the valley.

"I think the more important question is how you got here," said Derek. "And where you've been for the last twelve hours. You're soaked, Stiles."

Surprised at the revelation, Stiles looked down at muddy, still-drying clothes. He was a mess. An actual, literal, mess.

"Twelve hours?" he asked.

"Your dad said you ran out of the house like you were being chased. That was last night around nine. You left your lights and computer and stereo on and took off," said Derek.

"I've got a headache," said Stiles. It was clouding up recall. But he knew he had the headache when he left the house, too. It just hadn't gone away. And now on top of the headache, his whole body hurt. And it was covered in mud. "What time is it?"

Derek glanced out over the valley and shrugged. He handed his cell phone over to Stiles without bothering to look. "About nine am, I'd guess. You need to call your dad. Call off the search. So far it's just the pack. But he's panicked."

"I don't know what to tell him. Where is he?" Stiles didn't want to touch the phone, just stared at his muddy hands, trying to figure out how he had gotten that way. He heard the steady drumming sound again, was convinced it was a heartbeat. Maybe it was his own. But then he heard a second one at a different rhythm. He thought about his dad and a third beating sound layered over the other two, this one quieter and faster and it worried Stiles. He tried to listen harder and the sound of the river tried to drown everything out. Birds screamed in his ears. He thought he heard squirrels but he couldn't tell because everything was so loud. It all hurt and covered up the heartbeats in layers that just stacked higher, more and more sounds as his vision went white. "Too much light. I'm going crazy."

***

"No! Scott, don't!"

Stiles was pretty sure the voice in his head had been talking to him before that, but he hadn't heard it. Not until he heard the panic in it. It snapped him back and brought him back and he realized he had been tackled into a hug he couldn't catch. He was a muddy sack of potatoes and made his attacker trip. Scott. It was Scott. Smelled like Scott. How did he know what Scott smelled like? Again with the panic attack...

***

When Stiles woke up again, he was in a car. He was pretty sure it was a car. Otherwise it was the middle of an earthquake and nothing like any earthquake simulator he had ever been on. He clapped his hands over his ears and wrenched his eyes shut to try to make sense of the noise. Someone or something got in his face, trying to get his attention, and Stiles jerked away, hitting the restraint of a seatbelt and then the door.

"Hey! Woah! Scott! Give him space!" Again, Derek's voice made sense. It broke through the noise and the pressure and Stiles could focus on it. So he did.

"Derek!" Stiles winced and had to start over when he realized he was yelling over the noise in his head and that only made it worse. "Talk? Please? Recite the alphabet or something. Anything-"

"What the hell does that even mean?" Derek asked from the front. He was driving. Stiles figured out he was in the backseat and Derek was driving. He leaned forward but was very careful not to touch anything.

"I can hear you. Please, just talk?"

Stiles heard Scott's voice beside him, quieter and less painful than it had been but it was still too loud and booming to make out any words. Stiles bent over his knees to try blocking more sound. Whatever Scott said worked because Derek started talking.

"Look, we don't know what's going on with you, Stiles... We called your dad and we're going to meet him at the hospital..."

"No! No hospital!" There was no way Stiles could handle it. "Too much noise."

"Fine, we'll get you ear plugs then," said Derek.

"It always smells like death. No. Just go home. I wanna go home." It was almost down to just road noise. The realization was relaxing until he noticed Derek had gone quiet. "Keep talking and driving. But talking happens."

"How about you talk?" returned Derek. "Where were you? What's going on?"

"If I knew I could fix it! But I dunno!" The panic in his voice would have to do because Stiles had lost the ability to _words_ under the anxiety of being afraid the noise would come back. He was afraid to open his eyes, glad he could only smell the smudges of dirt on his face and the stale scent his clothes had dried with. Derek was the only voice that made everything else quiet and Stiles had no way of telling him that without sounding like an idiot.

***

By the time they got to the Stilinski house, Stiles was better. Things were still loud, still bright, and he swore he was going to knock Scott in the teeth if his friend tried to touch him again, but they were better. He was afraid to take a shower because he didn't want to know what the water would do to his skin. It would be too hot or too cold and stabbing him like needles either way. So he changed clothes and tried to ignore how harsh he smelled.

His dad wanted to know what was going on, why had he taken off, where had he gone... Stiles had no answers for him. He was distracted, his mind working the same case as the sheriff's, and just as empty. Even as his dad berated him, Stiles dug in to Derek's jacket pocket - without asking, but Derek was the idiot wearing a jacket in summer - and took the man's cellphone. He didn't know where his was because it wasn't in his room. He needed to talk to Lydia.

"Important life or death yes or no, Lydia... Do you get... White outs? Like everything turns white and you can't hear anything and you can't move..."

She didn't say anything for a long moment. "Why?" Lydia finally asked.

"Because it happens to me and it's getting worse. I white out and then I can't see or hear or smell anything. But I can hear voices and when they talk it makes things clearer. Like when you scream, it makes things clearer..." Stiles trailed off at more quiet. "What?"

"You're not a banshee Stiles. There's nothing wrong with you..." she told him. Stiles could hear her fine, she was even a little loud, but she was some epic levels of _wrong_.

"There's nothing wrong with you either, Lydia, but there is definitely something wrong with me," he said. His dad was paying attention by then and looked to Scott.

"Did you bite him? Was he bit? Is that-"

"No! Nobody bit anybody," said Scott quickly.

"I wasn't _bit_!" added Stiles. He winced because he yelled and it hurt his head.

"But you're you again," came Lydia's voice through the phone. "You're just Stiles. You're _okay_."

She was determined to believe it and might as well have been talking in riddles. It didn't help Stiles figure anything out.

"I gotta go," he muttered and then ended the call. He stared at the phone until Derek held out his hand to take it back. Stiles passed it over, reluctantly, and Derek caught his attention.

"She's right, Stiles. You're you. There's nothing wrong with you. You look the same, you smell the same as always. And like you went swimming in the creek," he said. "But still definitely just you. Nothing else in there."

Stiles looked at Scott for confirmation and his friend nodded. "You don't even smell sick, man. You're not dying or anything."

"So I'm just crazy?" Stiles asked. He looked from face to face and ended up on his dad. He looked worried. Finally he shook his head.

"This is nothing like what your mom went through," he said. "So if you're crazy... You're your own special kind."

"Maybe you should try taking a bath, getting a little less special," added Derek. The taunt was said with a small grin, trying to rile him. Scott thought it was funny. Stiles hardly managed to glare at him. He realized he was hungry and thinking on an empty stomach was always doomed to fail. He needed food. Food first. He'd kill the stupid werewolves later.

***

The problem with eating was that the first bite of leftover potato salad tried to kill him. It had mustard in it. Paprika. Salt. And Stiles had to drink half a gallon of milk straight from the carton under the watchful, worried fussing of his father and two very confused werewolves. He wanted to kill them just because he loved potato salad. He loved food. And this was the last straw. It didn't help that when his dad tried the food he had no reaction to it at all. Other than to ask if maybe they should consider an exorcism.

"I've now had a banshee and two werewolves assure me I'm _fine_. So the one thing I do know right now is that I don't need an exorcism," Stiles said, growly as he tried to get over the shock of a spice overload. And that was the thing: It was like everything was overloaded. Every sense.

In the month since the Nogitsune, little things would happen that would trigger headaches. A loud sound would knock him down, turning on a light in the middle of the night felt like needles in his eyes, and the occasional malfunction of the shower plumbing would chase him out of the tub sometimes seconds after it went too hot or too cold. His room was clean because if he left the dirty laundry lying around like usual, it smelled like something had died in it. Stiles had blamed the bitter burn from the stolen whiskey on being too depressed to drink the night of Allison's funeral, but maybe it wasn't mental. Maybe he was physically overloaded. Maybe this was the leftovers of a possession, some kind of delayed response, like a build up. Maybe he just needed to clear the cache.

"Okay, how do we do that?" his father asked, giving it reasonable thought. Stiles was just too relieved they hadn't laughed at him because the idea seemed stupid when he said it out loud. "You can't exactly run a defrag on your brain to help free up space, kiddo. You ran to the preserve in the middle of the night. It doesn't get much quieter or darker than that. I'll buy that this is the leftovers, but that's not enough. What else is there to fix it?"

Stiles shook his head, fingers tangled in his hair to help him hide behind his arms. "I... I dunno. I got nuthin."

"Then go take a bath or shower or something, whatever you can handle?" his dad said. "While you do that, I'll figure out food that is completely bland and boring and you'll hate it but at least it won't kill you. And then you sleep and we'll figure this out after that. Whatever it is. Okay?"

Stiles reluctantly nodded and shuffled off to go try it. Maybe he was just tired and his dad was right, it would all be better after he slept.

***


	2. Chapter 2

Voices talking in the room with him woke Stiles up later that day. He listened with his eyes closed, not understanding why they were in his bedroom to talk. It sounded like his dad, which that wasn't weird. But his dad talking to Chris Argent and Derek Hale in his room... That was weird.

"...I just told you, I took him some place safer than here. I know what's coming here, that kid couldn't handle it. He can't protect himself so I took him to someone who can," Chris was saying. Isaac? Were they talking about Isaac?

"But the rest of us could have used the help," said Derek.

"You've got _my_ help," said Chris. "I was not leaving him here to play like a pawn. He was alone. He had one chance to get out. _Isaac_ is not the point here."

"Then get to it," said Stiles' dad. "I've got a sick kid and he's asleep and I want to keep him that way."

"Then why're _you_ here?" Stiles just sort of assumed Chris wasn't talking to his dad and he was a little grateful because he really wanted to know the answer to that one too.

"Stiles asked me to stay," said Derek. It wasn't exactly a lie but there was a difference between _wanting_ and _asking out loud_. And holy shit, Stiles could hear his heartbeat confirm it. He lost the battle with keeping his eyes closed and he looked around then. But his room was empty. There was no one in the room except himself and the Yoda cut-out he had taped to the back of his bedroom door earlier that week. ( _Zen like the Jedi. Be a yoda. Control the stereo volume so it didn't give him a headache._ ) Yoda was failing him pretty hard lately because it still _sounded_ like people were talking in his room.

"It's about Stiles. He's on their radar and they won't take him off," Chris said. Who was _they_? Stiles kicked back his blankets and stood up carefully so no one - aside from the werewolf, but he was totally on Stiles' side on this - could hear him from downstairs. Maybe Stiles was crazy and maybe the voices were all in his head, in which case he could tiptoe across his bedroom floor without anybody thinking twice about it because he was already crazy and that's just a crazy person's prerogative. But he was certain he would find them downstairs. He heard his dad talking about the Nogitsune. And Derek saying they knew Stiles was himself, the fox was gone. And his dad blaming the fox again.

"I _know_ what killed Allison!" Chris snapped. Stiles froze, guilt making him cringe as loud as the creeping noise level. He had his hand on the door but no longer wanted to risk being seen or heard. So he stayed still. A chair moved downstairs and Derek said "Excuse me," before there were footsteps. Chris didn't seem to have noticed.

"That's my point. Stiles is a problem. He didn't kill anyone but hunters saw the fox using him. I came back and they're asking me about him, asking about you-"

"Who is _they_?" Stiles' dad asked.

"That's the hard part..." said Chris. Stiles wanted to scream; why had the man shown up at his house if he was going to get hung up on secrecy? The bedroom door opened then and Stiles barely had time to step out of the way. Derek stepped inside and tried to shoo him back.

"You don't get to _shoo_ at me in my own house," Stiles grumbled at him. He went right back to his post at the door.

"Stay out of it," said Derek, thankfully quiet.

"I _am_ out," said Stiles. "But I want to hear."

"You can't hear from-" Derek's argument quieted when Stiles glared at him. "You _can_ hear them?"

"Yeah, you woke me up," said Stiles. He waved for the now surprised Derek to shut up and went back to listening at the door.

"Look, whatever damage you were going to do to your street cred, you already did it showing up at my door, Chris," said Stiles' dad, to which Stiles muttered grateful thanks because at least someone was listening to his input in this conversation. It was still like pulling teeth to get anything out of Chris. Finally he gave up.

"Hunters don't exist on accident, Sheriff," said Chris. "My family alone has been at this for hundreds of years. Yes, I'm aware that it is on par with killing _people_. A war involves death, but when people outside find the bodies..."

"Outside looking in, it's murder," said the sheriff who had already had to deal with it from the outside looking in. "Inside looking in, it's still murder. Borderlines in serial killing spree. Drags in the Feds..."

" _Holy shit!_ " Stiles actually said it out loud, very loud, as he realized where his dad was following the hunter's logic. He clapped a hand over his mouth and risked opening the door. He could hear fine but he was starting to stress and the house noise was getting loud. He could hear somebody's car engine start up and it was louder than it should be. Derek reached past him and shut the door, setting his hand to Stiles' shoulder as he did in a warning not to sneak out. The house noise and the street noise quieted. Stiles looked over at him, surprised. But then he went back to trying to hear Chris talking and even that had gotten quieter.

"What are they saying? Is he saying what I think he's saying? Can you hear him?" Stiles whispered at Derek, fairly confident this time that the whisper actually came out as quiet as intended.

"Hunters are in place at every level, Stiles. They have the advantage. They always have," said Derek. This was the last thing he wanted to hear and Stiles stared at him, jaw slack. "He's here to warn us they're looking at you. And if they're using the Feds to do it, it means they didn't catch you at it and they can't prove anything."

Stiles frowned in defense of law enforcement everywhere. "That's not what-"

"You and Scott thought I was trouble and couldn't take me out yourselves so what did you do?" Derek asked, judgmental eyebrows arching in perfect judgement. Stiles rolled his eyes.

"I can't believe you won't _get over_ that already-"

"You put me on the county's Most Wanted list. And if your dad hadn't been there to handle things personally..."

"You would have gone to the hunter-Feds?" Stiles asked. Derek nodded.

"They tried to do it to Laura after we left. Tried to say she kidnapped me from a crime scene. They had to give it up because the sheriffs department wouldn't back the lie," he said. "So we left, disappeared."

"I don't really think that's an option for me at the moment," said Stiles. He _kinda_ wanted to finish school. Maybe a little. Mostly he didn't want to end up in some kind of federal "criminal protection" program. His eyes widened. "Neither is Guantanamo. I don't want to go there."

"That's not where they'd send you," said Derek. He was grinning. Stiles shoved him.

"First, _stop enjoying_ this. Second, how do you know," he said. Derek shook his head.

"I don't know. I know Laura's stories. It was why we ran, so she told me what rumors she had heard," he said. "Just that there's a place they have set up in Washington we think, just for wolves and people they can't just get away with killing. It's a... Special category."

Stiles slumped back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. He heard enough now to psych himself out. He was going to die because he was crazy now or he was going to die because the Feds were going to send him to werewolf jail. "Why are you telling me this. Ohmy god..."

"You asked!"

"Okay, so next time I ask, _lie_!"

"Fine," said Derek, frustrated now. "Werewolves go to jail in Hawaii at a four star resort on a private island, all expenses paid as they play in the water with the sea turtles. Feel better now?"

Stiles narrowed his eyes into a glare. He actually did feel a little better though.

 

***

 

Chris' warning was at least a few hours advance notice. All that effort to fess up to his dark family secrets and it, ultimately, didn't pay off. That night, after dinner, after everything in town had shut down, just barely before his dad was due to start falling asleep in his chair, there was a knock on the front door. It was a surprise to Stiles. He had been sitting quietly in the den watching movies with his dad. His head behaved itself all night, no weird sounds, no headaches, no panic attacks. Derek had gone home hours ago and Stiles had been texting back and forth with Scott. It was normal. It was quiet. The knock on the door was loud. Stiles looked up as his dad stood.

"You stay there," the sheriff said, not overly paranoid but definitely on alert. They weren't expecting anyone so late. Still disoriented and cranky from his night in the woods and the weird blackouts that morning, Stiles sent out a text to Scott and Derek both, asking if they had just shown up at his house. (And next time don't knock if they had.) But it wasn't them. Stiles heard the arguing plain enough, his dad squaring off with Agent McCall. Nothing new there. Stiles had just decided against staying where he was when his phone went off, announcing a text from Scott. The phone was in his hand so he glanced at it.

_RUN!_ was all it said.

With the warning from Chris earlier that day, and the obviously not social welcome at the front door, Stiles decided to take the hint. He snuck out through the kitchen and hit the back door at a run. He wasn't a wolf, he couldn't fight his way out of a hunter siege. He played lacrosse and running was about the only thing he really had nailed on that, so that was his plan.

It backfired when he slammed right into a black-clad hunter in the dark, tripped off the back porch and went sprawling. Stiles yelled when pain split up his arm and then flashlights blinded him. Actually blinded him. Everything went from the yellow light of the kitchen to black on the dark porch to bright white flashlight beams right in his eyes. It was pain on top of pain, his eyes hurt, his arms hurt. Three people stood around breathing on him as Stiles struggled to get up despite the weight on his back. It took forever to realize the weight on his back was a person, not gravity playing tricks on him. They were barking orders and grabbing his arms and the pain just got worse. Stiles heard his dad arguing with McCall and started shouting for help because the jerk on his back was making his arm hurt worse and he couldn't see anything and he could hear everything - heartbeats and breathing and somebody yelling at him and his dad yelling at Scott's dad and Scott yelling and the dirt made noise when somebody shoved his head into the grass and-

Then nothing. Nothing was better.

***

Consciousness happened in and out but it wasn't in between the white-out that Stiles had been stuck with the last few days. He saw only dark, like the back of his eyelids, and it was quick, didn't drag on forever like he was frozen. When he was awake it was like everything was fuzzy, and people talked to him but he wasn't sure they made any sense. And somebody screwed up his arm, really badly, because that woke him up once. The realization that he wasn't tired, that he wasn't asleep, made Stiles fight the heavy feeling of being tired and he looked around through blurry eyes, trying to figure out where he was.

It looked like a hospital room except wrong. Everything that looked useful for hospital-like situations was kept far across the room, against the wall. There was no curtain for privacy, no chair for his dad to sit in. It occurred to Stiles that maybe he had been in the hospital too much recently if he could identify what was wrong with this one. But he was definitely in a hospital bed. He recognized the guardrail set-up and the ugly sheets. And then he recognized the creepy restraints wrapped around his wrists and he realized he was back in Eichen house, not a hospital.

"Oh no. Hell no. Nononono..." He was instantly awake, twisting his wrists to try slipping out of the lambskin lined cuffs. And then, just as quickly, he was still and curled his right arm to his gut. His whole arm protested the slight movement. It felt broken. It took all his effort not to scream, he was that surprised and mad and in pain all at once.

He calmed down and tried to think. He had never seen this part of the asylum before, or any room like it. This place was new and sterile, not old and racking up the code violations. The walls went half way and then there were windows, mirrored so they went one-way like an interrogation room, which meant some creeptastic creeper was monitoring him and somebody knew he was awake. That meant no sudden movements, nothing remotely crazy, all perfectly normal behaviors only. It would let him leave faster. He was just under another 72-hour observation and this one wasn't voluntary, that was all. That had to be it. He swore the pillow under his head felt like his own.

So, calmer now, he checked his arm again. It was in a weird cast, almost like a 3D printed cast, which was the _awesomest freaking thing_ , but he didn't want to think about how much the insurance company was going to nail his dad for the bill. The restraints didn't let him poke at it much and it hurt to really move around while attached to the bed rails. Stiles collapsed into his pillow - _definitely his pillow_ \- and stared at the ceiling. He nearly freaked out again when he realized even the ceiling was wrong for Eichen House: Wood paneling, not dead and water-logged sound-board material.

And it wasn't fair but Stiles' mouth felt like cotton and he almost thought he was going to choke on it. He was scared and he was panicked and he broke down crying without realizing it. He'd had a crappy few days and this only made it worse. The actual worst part was the feeling that he was only half certain it was all even real at all, thanks to the weird white-outs. Maybe he and reality were parting company again. Maybe it was a good thing he was there, wherever he was. He really just wanted to go home. He gave up and fell asleep again, taking the excuse offered by whatever drugs were still in his system to pass out.

 

***


	3. Chapter 3

It felt like he had only just closed his eyes when Stiles was awake again. This time a familiar voice was saying his name. It just wasn't a voice he wanted to hear.

"Fuck you," Stiles muttered, still asleep but angry all the same.

"Wake up, Stiles," said Agent Raphael _Traitor_ McCall. He sounded annoyed and Stiles woke up a little more just to bask in it. He squinted at the agent, not liking the over-bright room any more than he liked the agent.

"You're a freakin' traitor," Stiles said. He was annoyed too, with better reason. McCall didn't say anything, he just held up a bottle of water. Water was the world's best idea in the history of ever but accepting help from Scott's dad just then was easily the _worst_.

"It's not drugged," the agent assured him. Pride lost out to dehydration and Stiles reached for it, surprised to find he was down to one restraint. His broken arm with the plastic honeycomb cast was free to move around. Whether it could effectively handle a water bottle was another matter but Stiles was determined to try. He failed but didn't make a mess, just switched hands.

"The cuffs are to keep you in one spot," said the agent. Stiles glared at him over the bottle. The agent shook his head. "You're here for observation, Stiles. That's all."

"Yeah?" said Stiles. "And then what? Mental evaluation? Where I talk about werewolves and demons and get myself committed? Wanna know how long somebody can be stuck in jail because somebody says they're not mentally sane enough for a defense?"

The agent looked mildly surprised. "I know how long," he said. "And that's why you're here for observation. You killed people-"

Stiles had been waiting for something about the Nogitsune but that didn't make it any easier. "That wasn't me! Ask _Scott_ -"

"That's why you're here, alright? I don't have to ask Scott. I have enough to keep you here at the sanctuary but I can't prove it in a court that would send you to an actual prison," said Agent McCall. "And if you're running off and disappearing with the same kind of mental problems that kicked off the last rampage-"

"This is something different-"

"The point is, Stiles, it's here in the sanctuary or within a week the hunters back home take care of you their way. This way, maybe you're screwed, but at least you're alive. After what happened to Al-"

"What the hell is a sanctuary? It's a hospital, you just said-" Stiles bit the inside of his mouth to make himself shut up. He wasn't going to freak out. He wasn't going to make their jobs easier. Scott's dad already treated him like a mental case.

"Hunters like the Argents have chosen a code, to hunt those who hunt. You hunted. Whether it was you or somebody who just looked a lot like you... They're just waiting on proof. For everyone's safety, you're here," the agent said.

"Until when?"

That one the agent didn't have an answer for. Stiles wanted to sic a werewolf on him.

"I don't get it," he asked since the agent obviously wasn't helping him out. He was being placated and put off and dismissed, like he was something fragile and needed careful handling. There was nothing that pissed him off in the world quite so much as that. "Are you a fed or a hunter? Why're you going after me when you'll just leave Scott to figure this stuff out on his own..."

"I'm a fed. I work for the United States government. And I'm doing this _because_ of Scott, Stiles. You need real help. You really think there's an entire segment of the country's population out there living in some kind of secret? We can't overlook dementia or Alzheimer's, we sure as hell can't overlook this stuff. We keep it quiet. But it's better the government deals with you than someone like the Argent family."

"I didn't do anything! I told you that! Ask Scott, ask my dad-"

"How about I ask the people who watched the sheriff's son tear apart the hospital?" asked Agent McCall. Stiles went still. "People died, Stiles. We don't know what you did or didn't do and we can't prove it. You walked through a room and _people_ splattered on the walls, but you broke your arm at your house and haven't healed, which suggests you're human."

"I am!" Stiles was certain on that. His mental stability was in question but he was human. So was Scott, for that matter, but he wasn't mentioning his friends to a fed-slash-hunter again, not even to Scott's dad.

"So you're here for observation and when we figure out what's going on with you, if you're safe, you'll go home," said the agent.

"Whatever. It's bullshit."

"If you say so." The agent stood up to leave. "Just behave yourself, okay? You're safer where you are than you would be at home. You'd drag your dad and Scott and Melissa into it there. Here, you can't."

Stiles was quiet a moment. The jerk had a point.

"Where am I? I mean, aside from this bullshit sanctuary thing. Where am I?" he asked finally.

"Washington. About an hour out of Seattle, over near Cascade."

"Why didn't you just put me in Eichen?" Stiles really wanted his dad just then.

"Because Eichen is a jail for the lost causes. Here you can actually get help," said Agent McCall. "I told you, Stiles. I got involved because of Scott. He wouldn't want to see his friend end up dead. This way, you can get help. It's better for both of you."

Stiles scowled at the far wall, not looking at the man. "It's bullshit."

McCall shook his head and left then. Stiles tracked him without watching him and then threw the empty water bottle at the door as it closed behind him. He was frustrated, but that wasn't even the tip of the iceberg.

 

****

 

The restraint on his uninjured arm was plenty effective since his arm in the plastic cast didn’t have the strength and dexterity to get past the latches and straps. So, stuck, and stressed, and missing his dad and his home, Stiles opted to sleep rather than sit on a fake-hospital bed and fight crying. He chose to see it as the ultimate “screw you” to the feds behind the mirrored windows; they were so low on his priority list that he could sleep. It was more the stupid drugs had been meant for a wolf and Stiles could feel the stuff hanging on and fogging his brain. He wanted it gone and the stupid feds weren’t giving him water or food to chase it out. This was definitely a government operation.

There was no way to know how long he had slept when he finally woke up and didn’t feel numb. His arm hurt. And it was time to find a bathroom. Stiles was pretty sure life sucked just then. So he curled up around the restrained wrist to hide it better and started putting real effort into loosening it. He noticed he had his own muddy clothes on under the nice clean hospital-thread-count sheet and blanket as he tucked under them to hide his arms. That was a small favor.

Another was gravity helping him keep his injured arm steady and useful instead of just in pain. And between the two, he got his fingers to cooperate with the tiny latches and the buckles and wriggled free. Then he played it cool, waited to be busted, and nothing happened. So he grabbed the railing with his good hand and pried himself out of the bed as quick as he could. They had taken his shoes and a quick search didn’t find them so he gave up. His socked feet caught a slight edge in the floor - carpet, not tile, which surprised him because he really hadn’t paid attention to the floor - and he realized he tripped over an inlay of wood.

“Oh my gawd are you kidding?” he muttered. It was probably mountain ash. No wonder they let his arm loose. But the boundary didn’t slow him down at all. He remembered his pillow at the door and ran back to get it. That was _his_ pillow, damnit. With the mountain ash paneling on the floor, Stiles wasn’t surprised to find the door unlocked. That figured. They got a gold star for trying; it was close enough for government work, anyway. It wasn’t their fault Stiles wasn’t as supernaturally inclined as they wanted him to be. He snuck out the door, into a darkened hallway. The whole privacy violation of it gave him a second’s pause as he looked through the window back into the room where he had been sleeping in plain view of anyone walking by. McCall called the place a sanctuary but it was definitely not a safe place. Especially not for Stiles without his handy werewolf offensive line.

His excuse for wandering barefoot was a bathroom so Stiles tried to play it cool, the lost supernatural freakshow kid, hugging his pillow and looking for a bathroom. If Agent McCall wasn’t lying, if this place really was some kind of government freakshow jail, then he wasn’t going to get very far before he found a locked door. Anything official like that would have cardlocks guarding cardlocks and probably security guard rent-a-cops on the outside for a visual deterrent. But Stiles wanted to know where he was, really, and exploring was how to get it done.

So he poked around what looked like a medical bay, like a nursing station, with more windows peeking into more rooms, some with people sleeping in them, some empty. And then he found the sanitary laundry room and helped himself to scrubs and shoe-covers to hide his socks from quick detection. Stiles hid the blue-covered pillow under a blanket with his casted arm as an additional layer of subterfuge. He was pretty satisfied with himself. He was keeping his head, he wasn’t panicking, and he hadn’t had a white-out in hours. Aside from the pain in his arm, he felt normal. Adrenaline was apparently his friend. He soaked his hair in the sink and slicked it back so he didn’t look like he had just woken up and called it a good disguise; all those years of trying to sneak around his dad’s work without being noticed had paid off. He was awake, he was hungry, and thirsty, and focused. He could do this.

Letting himself back out into the hallway, Stiles had to duck back behind the wall to keep his face from being seen by two more people in scrubs walking by. He and the blanket and pillow ended up following them because it seemed like the right direction, away from the room he had come from. There was a well-lit, open area at the end and that was going to be the test of it. But he just kept following the orderlies and tried not to look suspicious, carrying around a blanket to their clipboard and basket of tapes and bandages. Nobody really paid him any attention because he looked around, curiously noting where the nurses’ station was and the cupboards of supplies locked up behind a heavy grate, and a kitchen-like area. No waiting room for visitors though. The orderlies even held the door for him - since he did have his hands full - on their way out of the wing. Stiles smiled and gave a small wave and walked the opposite direction from them. Bandages meant blood and he didn’t want to go near that scene around werewolves in a jail.

He was in another hallway, which Stiles figured was a good thing; all self-respecting government buildings had emergency exits somewhere predictable. He even found the bathroom without a hassle. At his best guess, he had been an escaped not-a-werewolf for about ten minutes before the lights in the hall dimmed and blue-colored lights started flashing every fifteen feet or so along the walls. There were no sirens, no voices announcing an escape over the loudspeakers, but Stiles guessed it was because of him.

He started paying attention to the doors as he slipped his way down the linoleum hall in stolen paper booties. Carpet was a much better plan if he was going to get busted. He just wanted an office, someplace to maybe make a phone call. He wasn’t sure who he would call - _did he have to dial for an outside line?_ \- and he didn’t think it would do him any good, but every prisoner had their constitutional right to a phone call. He really wanted to call Derek and tell him about the werewolf jail in Washington - _outside of Seattle_ \- and not so politely demand a rescue. That seemed like the best plan.

He didn’t find an office with a phone but he found a stairwell. It wasn’t locked, which surprised him, and he ducked inside. He figured that was a safe place to hang out for awhile, until he realized he heard shoes slapping the concrete steps below. That meant he had to go up or get busted. Stiles went up a flight of stairs and then another, and let himself out on the top floor. That had to be the admin level because, peeking through the window, he saw carpets and windows that looked out at sunlight. There would be guards on the roof so he didn’t want to go any higher, and he could definitely still hear people down the stairs. Stuffed shirts in bad suits were better than tac-gear and guns loaded for werewolf. Stiles let himself into the new level and started looking for places to hide. He found an empty waiting area. And another bathroom. And a conference room. And an elevator - that was going to come in handy if it didn't have a cardlock - and a secretary’s desk. With a secretary at it. _Shit_.

“Uh. Hi,” said Stiles. The woman stared at him, wide-eyed. She wasn’t used to seeing orderlies on her level. Right. And probably not orderlies who looked seventeen years old. That was a potential problem for the whole idea of a cover story.

“Hi,” the woman echoed, still sounding surprised. “I don’t think you belong up here...”

“Uh. I guess not... But since I am, can I use the phone? My dad’s probably worried and, I mean, I miss him, so I want to make sure he’s okay...” The truth was supposed to set people free and all, but the secretary just guarded her phone a little more closely.

“Why don’t you go sit down there by the window and I’ll call somebody up here to get you to a phone you can use,” the secretary said. To his credit, Stiles thought about it. It wasn’t like he really expected to get to anywhere in a jail, no matter how friendly McCall tried to make it sound by calling it the “sanctuary” instead. But he wasn’t really ready to be jumped as an escaped not-a-werewolf in a werewolf jail. There were really no potential outcomes that didn’t hurt. And even if he wasn’t jumped when he was retrieved from the admin offices, he was probably not going to be put back in solitary confinement after just walking out of it. And stealing stuff on the way wasn’t going to look good for his case either.

So, finding himself in the position of a desperate man, Stiles dodged around the woman’s big fancy desk and through the double doors behind her. It was another office, and guessing by the size and the location behind the secretary’s desk, probably belonged to someone important. The sanctuary had to have a warden, right? Which Stiles reasoned worked in his favor because the doors he shut so quickly behind him were built to withstand a riot. They had knob locks and deadbolts and a built in bar to brace the heavy wood. Stiles used all three without hesitation.

Then he turned and faced a wall of windows. Not the most useful thing. He tried to stay away from them while still looking out. He could see the building wrapped around a large open area with grass and tall, old, redwood trees. The circular building had to be eight or ten stories tall, easily, but he couldn’t get a better count without getting closer to the windows than he wanted to be yet. Snipers lived on rooftops and windows were how they spotted targets with their little red guidance lasers. Stiles stayed in the shadows at the back of the room and left the windows alone. Locked in the big room with no real way out, he started looking for the phone. He was definitely panicking now and definitely wanted to call Derek.

The phone was, predictably, on the warden’s desk, and Stiles grabbed it and dragged it to the floor so he could hide under the desk. It wasn’t very original but it wasn’t like the attacking forces didn’t know they would find him in there. He was looking for concealment from shooting first and asking later, not a bomb-shelter. He tested the line, relieved it was still live, and pulled up a mental picture of his cell phone, trying to remember a number he’d never once thought to memorize. He knew his dad’s, he knew Scott’s and Scott’s mom - _because Scott used to have asthma and it was an important thing, okay?_ \- and he kind of knew Lydia’s house phone and cell phone and that was it. Derek’s though? That took work to remember. And then he dialed it and kicked at the wooden desk for every ring.

“I’m gonna keep calling until you answer, just pick up already...” he muttered, already mentally chewing Derek out for not answering the phone. Three rings and then it was answered and Stiles pounced the second he heard breathing.

“Derek! Derek, man, help! Okay? The place is real. It’s really real. Scott’s dad-”

“Stiles?”

“Yes!” Stiles was just barely not squeaking in his effort to be quiet. “I’m in werewolf jail! Scott’s dad put me here and I want out!”

“How the hell-”

“My dad knows that, so ask him. But you know about this place, you can get me out of it, right?” It wasn’t until Stiles said it out loud that he really let it sink in what he was asking Derek to do. It wasn’t like Derek, werewolf or not, and his dad, sheriff or not, could lay siege to a _prison_. He heard a bang of the stairwell door and then voices out in the hall. “Like, are there werewolf lawyers or anything?”

“My mom was a _werewolf lawyer_ and I don’t think she ever got anybody out of werewolf jail, Stiles,” said Derek. He sounded worried and frustrated. The sounds in the hallway got louder. Stiles looked out the window and the cloudy daylight seemed a little brighter. He was so screwed.

“What do I do?” he asked, quiet and more or less resigned to losing. He was going to lose so hard.

“Just don’t piss anybody off,” he heard Derek say. “I know you’re not good at that but you have to get real good at it, really fast.”

“I piss _everybody_ off. Even Scott’s tried to kill me-”

“I’ll get you out, okay? We’ll think of something, we’ll get there and you’ll be okay.” It was a promise and it surprised Stiles. He started listening and thought he heard a heartbeat through the phone line. He realized then he was squinting because it had gotten brighter in the room under the desk.

“Shit! Derek, I’m losing it again-”

“Don’t! Stiles, don’t black out-”

“It’s not really black. It’s more like white...”

“Don’t think about it, just think about breathing and not pissing anybody off-”

Stiles laughed and set his head back against the desk, stared up at the underside of a drawer with crystal clarity so he could see every tiny splinter of the wood. “Dude, I just stole clothes and a blanket and the warden’s _office_. I think they’re already gonna be pissed.”

Derek swore on his end and Stiles thought he heard a car door slam. “Hey, are you gonna go see my dad?”

“Thought about it.”

“Tell him they let me keep my pillow so far-” And then Stiles was ducking forward over his knees, phone all but forgotten because of the pounding from the other side of the door. Big booming racket, with the individual cracks splitting as the warden’s door was slowly broken through. Stiles held his hands over his ears and he could still hear it, so he closed his eyes and tried not to hear anything at all, willed his ears to turn off. It didn’t work, it only got louder, and he could hear Derek yelling at him through the phone. He hung up the phone and tried to crawl out from under the desk one handed, then tried to put the phone away back up on the desk where it had come from. He had painted a big enough target on Derek just calling him, leaving a traceable record. He didn’t need to completely damn the guy by having the call still active when the door gave out.

Then Stiles tried crawling back under the desk, with his pillow and stolen blanket, and wrapped the pillow around his ears. It was as useless as his hands had been. He squinted out the window and at the brightness of the sky and did exactly the opposite of what Derek had told him to do. He stopped squinting and took the pillow away from his head and listened. He heard the whispered count on the other side of the door, the secretary explaining what had happened to someone in the hall, and he thought he heard a dog howling somewhere in the building. And that was the last thing he was aware of for awhile.


	4. Chapter 4

When Stiles snapped out of it, he was back in the same room he had snuck out of. Both arms were restrained again. That wasn't exactly a surprise but it wasn't normal and it freaked him out. He didn't know what he could or couldn't trust of his current reality when he could just black out and be somewhere else. He knew he was himself, but that didn't mean he trusted anything. Waking up tied down didn't help that fear at all.

He stared at the ceiling and tried to focus on counting the splinters and knots in the paneling. It helped a little but it was weird, like looking through a magnifying glass. He could see a lot of detail in the bright light of the room. The puzzle of that kept him occupied for probably ten minutes. And then the door scratched and beeped - _they locked it this time_ \- and someone walked in.

The warden was a lady. Stiles had kind of assumed they would be an old man with a beer and doughnut gut and a thin comb-over. She actually reminded him a little if Ms. Morell but she didn't look _quite_ as likely to threaten to personally kill him. But it kept him quiet as she introduced herself and informed him how very unimpressed she was with the damage he had done to her office. He could only stare for a moment, his brain stuck.

"What damage?" Stiles asked finally. "I didn't. I didn't even touch anything..."

"You didn't answer them when they tried to talk to you, and you didn't let them in," Warden Thompson said. "In an environment like this one, they force entry when someone locks themselves into a room and is unresponsive."

"I didn't _know_ I was unresponsive..." That sounded stupid and Stiles went quiet again.

"Yes, that is a problem. We're trying to find someone to help you with that."

"Where's Agent McCall?"

"Back to work," said the warden. "You're certainly the youngest one he's ever had to bring in, so he stayed to be sure you got back on your feet. Which you obviously have."

Stiles tugged on the restraint on his left arm. "Not really."

"Like I said, we're still trying to track down someone who can help you. All we know is you're not a werewolf. You've so far displayed no telekinesis or shape shifting tendencies and those are mostly the categories we treat here. You need to be evaluated before we can let you around the others in the sanctuary but we can't do that until you cooperate."

"I just wanted to call my dad," said Stiles, annoyed. He had been cooperating. _Not_ cooperating would mean doing something other than sneaking out of an unlocked room.

"You didn't call the sheriff, the station, or any of the officers' numbers," said the warden. "You called a burner phone."

Stiles didn't know Derek had a burner phone. But it made sense. He shrugged it off; he wasn't telling a werewolf hunter where to find any of his wolves. They could do their own homework. So the silence dragged on. The warden cracked a wry grin.

“Yes, you’ve obviously been very cooperative,” she said. Stiles heard her voice in crystal clarity but he pretended he hadn’t. The warden clasped her hands in front of her like some kind of innocent sunday school teacher and walked up to the bed until she stood in Stiles’ direct line of sight. Her expression wasn’t quite that harmless and he pressed back into the propped up bed. He really, really just wanted to go home.

“Mr. Stilinski-”

“ _Stiles_. I'm not my dad.” Not that he meant to interrupt, but he was already missing home and the woman just made it worse.

“Alright, Stiles,” she said, very patient. “We have every legal right to lock you up and throw away the key. Carnage followed you through a hospital. That’s not normal, and it’s not acceptable around normal society. So I would like to personally encourage you to cooperate with us. Help us figure out what is wrong with you so we can send you home, healthy and sane and not on the verge of another murderous rampage.”

Frustrated at hearing an accusation that so closely matched his own silent paranoias, Stiles set his jaw and refused to shirk out of the woman’s stare. “But that wasn’t _me_.”

“Then what was it? And how is it different from the episodes you’ve shown us so far?”

Stiles went quiet at the woman’s question. She kept up the image of the tolerant benefactor just trying to help and he had a chance to settle down after her earlier threat. He finally scrounged the courage back up and tugged on the restraints.

“If you want me to cooperate, let me out of this stuff,” he said. “I don’t think you want to help. I think you’re just trying to get me to hang myself.”

“The use of restraints, actually, implies we don’t want you to hang yourself,” said the warden. “The locked doors imply we don’t want you to hurt anyone else.”

“Or that you’re a bunch of creepers,” argued Stiles.

“And even if that were the case, Stiles, there are more of us than there are of you,” Warden Thompson said, calm and unconcerned by the challenge. “So if that were the reason for keeping you in here, we can let you out as many times as you want, but you would just end up back where you started the next time.”

“Then can we just shortcut this whole impasse and just let me go home?”

“Not until you convince me that you’re not safer here.” The warden crossed her arms, the first sign that Stiles was getting somewhere with her. He was maybe a little hopeful but he should have known better.

“I’ll make a deal with you then,” she said. “A trade. You talk, something useful, and I’ll get the keys.”

That one backfired on him. Stiles scowled at the floor, weighing his options. “Fine.”

“Good. Then how about you tell me why we found you wide-eyed and frozen under the desk?” the warden asked. “Same as a few times since you’ve been here. You’re awake, you’re able to stand on your own, you breathe fine...”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be here,” said Stiles, unhappy at a now familiar conversation. “I just know I get these weird... headaches. Where everything gets really loud, really bright... Everything just multiplies by a hundred.”

“Your hearing and your sight? So you’re saying you killed-”

“Hey!” Stiles glared up at her. “First off, I told you people, that wasn’t _me_ , and second, I told you that was entirely different than this thing. Not the same thing. At all.”

The woman stared at him like she didn’t believe him but she left it alone. “Alright, then you’re saying your current problem is your senses going haywire? Sight and hearing, what about the others?”

Stiles shrugged. “I guess, yeah. I choked on paprika. But I mean, that’s all brand new, the last few days... it was just small stuff and then it kinda got big and I went tearing off into the woods where it was quiet,” he said. He didn’t feel like mentioning that he dropped in the river and rolled in the mud and didn’t remember that. “So yeah, I guess it’s just the senses. Totally haywire. Good word.”

The warden seemed satisfied and, a moment later, reached out to start prying at the latches and buckles on the restraints at his wrists. Stiles stayed still and refused to give her any excuse to change her mind.

“Well the good news is I happen to know someone who might have an inkling of what’s wrong there,” she said. She backed off and actually smiled. “So, behave yourself for a few days here and I will try to track him down. He’ll at least have a better idea of where to start.”

“Who?” Stiles wasn’t sure if he was hopeful or not.

“I’ll answer that when I’ve sorted out how to get in contact with him. He’s a busy man. So make yourself comfortable,” said the warden.

“Yeah? Does the TV in this place get HBO?” asked Stiles. There was no TV in the room. It was sarcasm and the warden caught it without calling him out for it.

“Dinner will be brought around in half an hour. It’s on a schedule here,” she said. “And I’ll get someone to bring up a book.”

“I have ADHD, I haven’t seen daylight in like _ages_ , and I’m stuck in a tiny room,” Stiles pointed out. The warden shrugged and allowed it.

“Then I’ll get someone to bring up a _few_ books,” she said. “Food is still in a half an hour. And you’ll stay in this room.”

The warden left then. Stiles never promised a thing. And he found his shoes in one of the cabinets along the wall when he went prowling to see what he had to work with. It turned out that he had a lot to work with. He was pretty sure he could set the room on fire with what had been left in the unlocked cabinets that the average werewolf couldn’t access behind an ash line.

Dinner showed up when it was promised.

An hour later, Stiles shorted out the keycard lock system and he and his pillow went for another walk. That went over a little better since he had shoes this time and he knew where not to go - _up, don’t go up_ \- and he snuck in more exploring. He figured it sent a nice passive-aggressive message about his general ability to _cooperate_.

The downside was getting caught. It was anticlimactic really, no doors were bashed in, he didn’t get to make himself black-out to not have to deal with it. He heard a half dozen rounds chambered in their guns and held his hands up very high the instant someone called him a wolf. He wouldn’t heal, the cast on his arm proved it, and he definitely wouldn’t heal from six wolfsbane bullets lodged in parts he held vital to his continued existence.

The part that was _worse_ than the downside was getting put out in the sanctuary’s version of “gen-pop” rather than back in the medical wing. He was fresh meat in a werewolf den. Thanks to the lockdown he caused, the barred gate slid closed as the guards walked away, trapping him in with a new wolf roommie. The warden’s way of replying to his message was a full on _checkmate_ and Stiles figured he’d be dead by morning.

 

***

 

The sanctuary was just dark prison cells. It was night so the lights were all off inside, a hint to the inmates to sleep. Stiles sat on the ridiculous bunk bed - all bad springs and thin fluff and _it smelled like rats holy god_ \- and stared at bars. His eyes adjusted. Heavy, thick bars coated in a faded silver wash. He was on the lower bunk and could hear breathing and a heartbeat blaring from the top and didn't want to introduce himself. Not in the dark, to a werewolf, in werewolf jail. He wasn't suicidal; a smart person let sleeping dogs lie and that was Stiles' entire plan for survival at the moment. So he stayed awake, listening to everything and watching the shadows fade to dim light he could easily see past. He curled up around his pillow and leaned against the wall, cold and damp air dragging on him. It was a few hours before sunlight and Stiles didn't move all night.

He was awake when the new roomie woke up. Stiles had spent hours coaching himself on what to do with that scenario: no fear, no holding his breath, no lying about anything except to convince everyone that he was a wolf. That was an important part of his _Plan For Surviving The Sanctuary_. Channel his inner Scott. Pretend he sprouted claws and teeth at will. The new roommate would never have to know otherwise if they made peace on that foundation.

The roommate dropped to the ground without dawdling and crouched so the first thing he did was look in at Stiles. He expected an attack as much as Stiles did. Good. Stiles bared his normal boring human-teeth and made a face.

"Stay away and we won't have problems," he said, trying to sound more like Derek than Scott.

"You're one of those guys, huh?" the man asked. He didn't seem overly concerned, just crouched and reading Stiles like Stiles tried to get a read on him. The question seemed odd.

"Are you a wolf?" he asked. The man shook his head.

"Nope. Falsely accused," he said. "You?"

Stiles thought about lying but maybe he had an ally to work with. He reluctantly shook his head, warily watched the roommate for a reaction. The man just nodded.

"That makes sense," he said. He offered a hand out to shake. "Name's Ellison. What do I call you?"

Stiles slowly pulled his right arm out from behind the pillow before he remembered he had been hiding the cast. To his surprise, Ellison noticed in the dark and nodded. His offer to shake turned into a fist instead. Stiles experimentally bumped his left fist up to meet it and the peace accord was settled.

"Stiles," he said.

"Good man," said Ellison. "You the reason we kept getting lockdown last night, Stiles?"

"Probably. I broke into the warden's office. They got pissed and broke down the door," he admitted. "And then I fried the locks and walked out of the medical wing."

"Regular Houdini," said Ellison. "Great. I can see my nice quiet life is about to get complicated."

Stiles nodded. That was probably the best way to put it.

"Well, the rumor mill will tell you pretty quick that I used to be a cop. So keep your hoodlum ways to a minimum and we'll get along better," said Ellison. Stiles frowned at him.

"I'm here because my best friend's dad is an asshole fed. I didn't do anything," he said.

Ellison raised an eyebrow in a good impersonation of any Hale. "Except break into the warden's office and destroy a few hundred bucks worth of equipment?"

"The first duty of any prisoner of war is escape," said Stiles. That amused the man, seemed to surprise him, and Stiles figured he was maybe a little safer than he had figured.

"Do I want to know what the war is?" Ellison asked.

Stiles shrugged. "McCall can't exactly lock his own kid up for being a freak, so he ships me off to set an example, keep Scott in line. And he wants my dad's badge. So take your pick."

"Your dad's a cop?"

"County sheriff," said Stiles. "Unless McCall got him fired because of me again."

"Kid. You are a walking target."

"Tell me about it," muttered Stiles. Ellison let it sit there a moment before he stood and started making his bed. Stiles peeked out and noticed hospital corners. The guy was either a clean freak in a terrible environment for clean freaks or he was ex-military. _Great_.

"Breakfast is about twenty minutes out. Don't sleep through it," said Ellison.

"Wasn't planning on sleeping," said Stiles. Ellison looked over at him, not quite settled by the answer.

"You should consider it. But not until we're back in here. Not your first day out."

"I'm good. I slept in the hospital wing," said Stiles.

"You've been in here eight hours, kid."

The number was a surprise but Stiles shrugged it off. He wasn't tired yet. "I got the drugs outta my system. I'm okay. Just want food."

Ellison didn't like that answer and Stiles very plainly heard the man muttering about assholes who drugged kids. He just couldn't tell if he heard because Ellison wasn't being quiet or if he had heard the man because the rest of the wing of cells they were in had woken up and he was paying attention to _all_ the noise around him. It was painful. Stiles was distracted. Maybe he should have slept after all.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

There was no order to the way the sanctuary ran things. Stiles expected guards and guns and uniforms to deal with in order to get to breakfast. Instead, the heavy barred door just slid open at the same time as every other door on the block. Stiles started to poke his head out into the hall to see and Ellison caught his shoulder and pulled him back.

"No rush. Better to let the crowd thin out a little," he warned. And Stiles sat back on the bunk as Ellison stood near the door, arms crossed as he scanned the faces that passed outside. Nobody moved in lines, there was no order or rules, just a mob moving down the corridor. It dawned on Stiles then that there weren't uniforms in the place. It wasn't that he had been skipped over on picking up his orange jumpsuit because the others didn't have uniforms. They just had the clothes they showed up in or scrubs like Stiles had stolen and still wore over his own street clothes. Their shoes and boots all had laces like his own and the crowd was in general just like any other crowd Stiles would see at a baseball game. Just dirtier maybe. He coughed to get past the wall of bad personal hygiene slowly sinking through the bars into his space.

"Reeks," he muttered. Ellison scoffed.

"You have no idea," he said under his breath. Stiles heard him just fine but decided not to point that out. Ellison was a cop and even his hair cut screamed ex-military, and he said he wasn't a werewolf, but that didn't make the guy totally trustable. Stiles just sniffed and rubbed at his nose and tried to focus past the noise of the people walking by.

"I thought I heard fresh meat show up," someone said at the door. Stiles looked past Ellison to see a man in a scruffy leather jacket standing at the bars.

"Keep walking, Meyers," said Ellison. Stiles realized then that his new roommate was bigger than Derek and stood casually between him and a threat without having been asked. If he was a cop it came with the territory. If he was a liar it made life very complicated for Stiles. All the same, he stayed out of it as Meyers hassled Ellison for not giving anyone else a chance at the new toys. Stiles didn't really want to go to breakfast anymore; his appetite had disappeared.

But the threat left peacefully enough and Stiles made himself stop paying attention to the hall. When Ellison said they were good to leave finally, they did. Stiles kept his new bodyguard in sight as they walked, following the stragglers who all looked too small to be werewolves. More people like Stiles who were just weird enough to be dangerous. Standing in line for food in the long room that passed for a cafeteria, he wasn't sure yet that he wanted to make friends.

"How did you all get here?" Stiles asked. He realized he had been quiet, overcompensating for the noise already hurting his head as they waited in the cavernous room. But Ellison apparently heard him.

"Showed up at the wrong crime scene at the wrong time," said Ellison. "It overlapped a federal case. And the fed started digging into my old cases, saw I didn't always follow the books-"

Stiles frowned at him. "You're in werewolf-jail for being a cop _?"_

"I don't always wait for the labs, I don't always wait until the screaming starts to put down a perp... I never miss my shot," the man said. He was being quiet too, Stiles realized.

"So _what_ are you?" asked Stiles. Ellison shook his head, shrugged it off.

"Just human," he said. He pointed at a shifter further up who was annoying someone else in line. They had the claws out and kept poking nails at the person ahead of them. "I never saw anything like that until I got here."

"They're still human," said Stiles. He scratched at his head, trying to sort it all out.

"If you say so," said Ellison.

"I just don't get why you're here," Stiles said. "You didn't know about this stuff, so none of your friends are dragging you into it. You aren't a shapeshifter..."

"Or a mind reader, or a fire-starter. Can't make objects fly through the air with the power of my mind. I've never turned anybody into a puppet. Not a vampire, either..." Ellison shrugged it off. But Stiles got the impression he wasn't saying everything. The guy looked over at him. "What are you here for?"

"Already told you," said Stiles. He wasn't going to blow his cover as a potential werewolf standing in line for food. Ellison nodded.

"Right. Prisoner of war," he said. The man didn't sound convinced and Stiles found other places in the room to look. He found people staring and tried not to invite any fights.

The kitchen was walled off by glass and a tray was shoved out from under a window at Stiles when he finally got up to it, very anticlimactic after the long wait in line. The food was probably healthier than what he got from the school lunches at home. It was also a very good thing Stiles wasn't a vegetarian. Meat was pretty much the only order of the day, so he felt lucky that it was actually cooked. It was eggs and chicken and steak and veggies all in one mess. It should have been fine. It tasted spicy and he couldn't quite finish it once he finished off the bottle of water he used to chase everything down. He caught Ellison watching him and more or less gave up.

"Something wrong with the breakfast chili, chief?" Ellison asked. Stiles made a face and shrugged. Everyone else was fine.

"I don't know. Too much pepper or something," he said.

"Yeah. Pepper's a natural killer." Ellison used sarcasm. Great. Stiles scowled and shoved at the tray. Ellison checked that he was really done with it before passing the tray down the table to someone else. Stiles wanted to go get more water but he didn't think it would help. Ellison finished up his own food and stood. He waved the tray to signal Stiles it was time to leave.

"Come on. Let's get you outside before you snap or something," he said. It wasn't a bad idea. But how did _Ellison know?_

 

***

 

The yard was huge. It was more like a park than a yard. Stiles realized he had underestimated the size of the sanctuary building as he looked around the wide space and saw the walls on all sides. It was like the old colosseums, concrete walls all around in a circle. High windows showed up on the second floor. It wasn't impossible for a wolf to jump to the windows but it was unlikely. But the windows were the only way out that didn't lead back into the cafeteria and the jail cells. The place was entirely self-contained, one way in and one way out, unless someone could fly. Trees grew in random places along the walls and out into the yard but none of them were tall enough to climb out.

"Sanctuary," Stiles muttered. "Like a wolf sanctuary. Free range protection from the human race."

"Yep," said Ellison. "Plenty of food and space, and they check on you every once in awhile. You still live or die on your own. Mostly from boredom."

The sky overhead was overcast and could probably rain but everything contained by the walls of the prison was bright and clear. It was cold and muggy, Stiles felt like he needed to scrub clouds off his arms. It wasn't like home. Even the air was wrong. But he was going to be dealing with it for awhile. "I'm gonna look around."

"Be careful," Ellison warned. "It's not just wolves here. And don't go near the women. You're a whole different kind of fresh meat to them."

Stiles thought twice about leaving. There was safety in numbers, even if it was just him and Ellison. But the man had already picked a tree to settle down under. He pulled a novel out of his pocket to read. That was a big hint that Stiles could explore on his own. So he did. He grabbed a small branch of the tree as he passed the trunk, breaking off a switch to play with. His mind was already distracted trying to figure out how to make a spike out of a branch, to get himself a weapon. He was supposedly safe. But he wasn't a wolf, he wasn't anything except crazy, and he wasn't safe.

The yard could have fit two lacrosse fields easily. It was big but there was no avoiding the walls on all sides of the round enclosure, it wasn't big enough to get away from feeling trapped. Stiles headed for the center of the place, or as much of a center as he could figure anyway. It was round, there were no corners or buildings to really interrupt his view, but he wanted the three-sixty panorama. He walked across a running track - really? - and avoided the flat pad with the basketball hoops and the climbing wall toward a cluster of tall trees on a small rise. It wasn't much of a hill but it wasn't flat like everything else.

The hill had a run-off trail, like a dried creek bed that wound between trees and down into the flat of the yard further to drain the grassy areas and keep it from flooding in the rains. Stiles followed that to the top. The trees there were old and easily predated the construction of the jail. And it seemed like it would be quiet there.

The grove didn't provide much of a view of the yard. There were too many trees in the way. In that sense it worked as a place to hide, somewhere Stiles didn't have to look at walls, could pretend he was in the preserve at home. He found an old oak and stood at the base staring up, silently surprised something so old had survived. It hadn't been carved up or scratched by anyone in the sanctuary. The huge thing just sat in among elms and redwoods like a little piece of home. Stiles wanted to climb but his busted arm made that project impossible. He just sunk his back against the tree and sat down among the roots to think.

A branch snapped not far away and Stiles looked over to see his little corner of peace had been invaded. The werewolf Ellison had called Meyers walked up like he owned the place, which caused an irrational flare of anger; Stiles had found this place and it was his.

"Where's your guard dog?" Meyers asked. Stiles glared at him.

"I don't need a guard dog," he said.

"Really?" Meyers laughed at him. The man's attention was caught on Stiles' cast. "Seems to me you need someone to look out for you. At least until that heals up."

Well _crap_. Stiles wasn't on his game. He _hurt_. It should have been obvious to him that he couldn't pretend to be a werewolf walking around with a broken arm. His one plan for talking his way out of trouble had a glaring hole in it.

He had dealt with a man like Meyers at Eichen House and the demon-fox in his head thought it was more fun to let him lose. That was just to Brunski, a human who liked to pick fights with people half his age. A werewolf had the more obvious advantage. Stiles started to climb to his feet. It was easier to run that way and he would run shamelessly back to Ellison. It was safer than trying to take on a werewolf with a simple tree switch.

Meyers was faster. Before Stiles could dodge away, a clawed hand was wrapped around his throat to pin him to the tree.

"You don't belong here," Meyers said. He sniffed at Stiles, held claws threateningly at Stiles' skin around his eye as he stared at him. "You're a fake, like Ellison."

"Maybe you could write the warden a complaint," said Stiles, trying to think past panic and the mantra of ' _oh shit oh shit oh shit_ ' running in his head. The werewolf tapped sharp claws over his brow to leave little prick marks and watch them not heal.

Distracted by new pain, Stiles flinched, amped up by something in his space that wasn't muggy air and trees. His arm hurt, now his face hurt, his neck hurt under the werewolf's hand pressing him into the tree. He could feel every scratch from the bark despite his t-shirt, stolen scrubs shirt _and_ over shirt. It didn't help that he was listening, trying to figure out if anyone was close enough to call for help. He heard a hundred other heartbeats. He heard Meyers loud and clear, felt him breathing in his face.

Stiles couldn't think, couldn't focus, and felt the first hints of the white-out crawling in. He couldn't panic or he was dead, he would turn into a vegetable pinned to a tree, but panic was definitely a thing that was happening.

Despite the claws threatening to take his eye out, Stiles brought up his left fist and slammed it into the man's stomach as he shoved away from the tree and dodged right. It was stupid but it was moving, it was action and not panic. It bought him five feet of freedom and a pissed off werewolf.

Footsteps through the leaves, crunching and hurried, distracted Stiles and he looked away from Meyers. The man attacked and Stiles went sprawling. He tried to use his broken arm as a shield because the molded plastic cast would protect it and fought back with everything else he could manage. Meyers punched him across the face and it dazed him for precious seconds.

And then the fight was somehow over. One second the werewolf was in his space, heavy weight and terrible stench of bad hygiene and angry yellow eyes. Then he was gone. Stiles blinked at the sky in confusion. He still felt someone near him, way too close, but it wasn't Meyers. He tried to listen for them, looked all around and saw instead the leaves from the trees high above him like he could reach out and grab them. There was a small bird on a branch blinking down at him. Then something touched his face, smacked his cheek. The rush of noise clarified and calmed along with everything else as his face was turned to see who had caught his chin. A dark haired woman knelt at his shoulder and her voice came in to gradual focus.

"-your name if you can understand me," the woman ordered. "Out loud. What is your name?"

Stiles blinked at her. She smacked his cheek lightly again, trying to rouse an answer out of him. "Come on. What's your name..."

"Derek?" Stiles said, confused as he stared at the woman. It wasn't his name. He knew that. But it was all that came to mind as he stared at her. Things got quieter and more manageable all around him and Stiles tried to focus on what she was asking. He tried to sit up. "I'm fine. My name is Stiles. Stop _hitting_ me..."

The woman smiled and helped him sit up. Looking around, he saw other women loitering in his violated safe space around the old oak. A fourth one walked back up the hill toward them.

"Where'd he go-"

"He ran off because he's smart," said the red-headed woman. She knelt at his other side and Stiles looked at her face. He scrabbled back almost instantly, his arm complaining and keeping him from going far.

"Why are you here, Stiles?" Victoria Argent asked. She was very much not dead. Her hair was longer. And why did she have blood on her face...

"Stiles?"

"The boy doesn't talk much?" said the dark haired woman, startling Stiles out of it.

"He talks plenty," Victoria said. "Whether it's anything worth paying attention to is another matter."

Stiles tried standing up again and the two women helped. Allison's mom caught his chin with her fingers and turned his face one way and another to be sure he was okay. _Allison's mom_.

"You'll bruise but you'll be fine. The scratches didn't go deep enough," said Victoria. She made him look at her. "You aren't healing. Why are you here?"

"I gotta go," he said quickly. He wasn’t about to tell Victoria why he was there because that would only lead back to the nogitsune and that would lead back to Allison and then she would kill him dead and bury him under the oak tree. The two women smirked at each other as Stiles turned away. He headed out of the grove of trees as quickly as he could. At the bottom of the hill, he heard someone say to Victoria, "Not very good with manners, for the sheriff's son."

Without thinking, Stiles turned back. "Thanks..." he called out. Then he was back to tracking down Ellison. This was the weirdest week of his life and he needed something normal.


	6. Chapter 6

If leashes had been available after that excursion on his own, Stiles probably would have been on one. Ellison told him to stay in sight if he had to explore, which was Stiles' New Plan anyway. It was like being stuck in jail with his dad. They went in for lunch early and opted to stay in. There wasn't much to see in the yard that Stiles hadn't already and he wasn't keen on meeting any other versions of Meyers. Staying in meant that Ellison couldn't go back out but he didn't say anything if it bothered him.

Mid afternoon there was a mini-lockdown. Every door on the block slid closed without warning. Everyone outside was locked in the yard, everyone inside was locked in their cells, the cafeteria, or in the bathroom. Stiles got up off the bunk and tentatively poked his nose out through the bars.

"Someone's got a visitor," Ellison told him. "Standard operating procedure. Otherwise the guards get rushed and things get ugly."

The information was stored away and Stiles relaxed but he still watched to see who would get called out. The idea that the sanctuary had visitors was a dangerous one; he missed his dad and Scott and _Washington was only like a twelve hour drive from home..._

The guards stopped at the door. In front of Stiles. He backed off quickly, thinking that was a hint he wasn't supposed to be snooping. He was surprised when the door was opened with a key and he was waved out.

"Found you a doctor, Stilinski," the guard said. "You've got an appointment."

Stiles looked between Ellison and the guard, not sure he trusted it. The man just shrugged and nodded.

"I'll watch your stuff," was all he said. Stiles accepted that and left his pillow tucked under the blanket on the bottom bunk. Then, more hesitant than he wanted to admit to, he followed the guards out. Ellison was locked back inside again. And Stiles got to explore another part of the prison with an armed escort.

 

***

 

It wasn't much of an exploration. Once he was through the multiple gates and checkpoints required to get to the less secure parts of the building, he was in the lobby, and then the elevator. And then the warden's floor.

"Uh. This- are you sure this is where I'm supposed to be?" Stiles asked as the elevator button lit up the top floor as the destination.

"Yeah," said his guard.

"But the warden is not exactly a fan-" Stiles went quiet as the doors opened onto the familiar level.

"You're not here to see the warden, remember?" And then Stiles was pushed carefully out through the doors. He looked out the big windows but was mostly distracted by where he was going. They passed a few more official looking doors before he was pointed into a room that looked like a conference room. Big long table and more floor to ceiling windows that looked down on the yard. Not much else to look at except wood paneling.

Everything about the place was impersonal and formal, completely unnatural from the basement levels to the penthouse, Stiles decided. He just never would have known how badly he needed familiar things until he didn't have them. The stupid penthouse was more nerve wracking for him than the yard. He almost missed the yard and stuck his nose to the glass to stare down at it.

He found the oak tree in the center and his thoughts derailed again; Allison's mom was here. She was supposed to be dead, but instead it was just Allison gone. Victoria Argent was going to kill him. Rip him to shreds with werewolf claws. Stiles really, really hated Scott's dad for dragging him into it all; he liked his life better when dead people stayed dead rather than go out of their way to make him dead.

"I don't know about you but I didn't see much of a view down there." The voice came from the door behind him so Stiles blinked back the morbid thoughts and tried to get back to what passed for his life. He looked back at the visitor, had to try not to laugh. The man looked more like a hippie than any kind of doctor. If the warden thought he was on drugs, hooking him up with a new dealer wouldn't fix the problem. But despite the crazy curly hair in the ponytail, the guy's jacket wasn't cheap. He smiled and held out his hand. Stiles showed the cast and the guy went for the fist bump-save just like Ellison had.

"I'm Blair," the guy said. "Or Dr. Sandburg. Whichever. You're-"

"Stiles." The guy had a file in his hand that probably had all the official information. _Great_. "I'm just Stiles."

"Got it. And I get it, man," Blair laughed pretty easily but it wasn't his name on the line, either. He was also really loud, which only added to Stiles' stress. He waved Stiles toward the conference table as he spoke. "Although you know the history of your name, don't you?"

"Yeah... But that doesn't mean I want it getting around this place," said Stiles. He dropped into a chair.

"Makes sense," said Blair. He stood behind the chair across the table from Stiles, leaned on the back of it. "So here's the thing. Miranda didn't tell me much. Just that you're having problems? Sensory things..."

Stiles nodded. "I can hear the jerk chatting up the secretary down the hall. It's really distracting."

With the lift of an eyebrow, Blair went from half-disinterested to intrigued. "Just hearing?"

Stiles nodded, scratched a finger distractedly across the smooth surface of the table. He told him the basics about the weird haywire senses and the trip to the middle of the woods that he couldn’t remember, about the white glare of dead-space that he could remember. In light of their surroundings in a jail for crazy people, he tried to make it sound as _normal_ as possible.

"Wait. It goes white? Not just a black-out?" asked Blair. Stiles nodded.

"It's like everything at once... So then nothing works. I figured out how to make it happen. Freaked out a couple times and-"

"You did it on purpose?" Blair asked, apparently horrified. Stiles nodded.

"Woah, man! Never do that again," warned Blair. "Don't play with that stuff. It's dangerous-"

Stiles stared at him. "Wait, you actually know what this is?"

"Yeah, man! That's why Miranda dragged me in here. I mean, I figured it was going to be a bust but... You're even on _zone outs_."

"Huh?" At Stiles' confusion, Blair scrambled into a chair, started talking with his hands over the table top.

"I helped my friend through this thing you've got going on, man. I'm like, the leading expert in the field. Tiny field. People think I'm crazy, really. But it's really real," Blair said. He was completely serious and Stiles began to think that maybe neither one of them were crazy. "It's really dangerous for you guys. The zone outs, where you white out? That's just the icing on the cake here unless you learn how to control it."

"Dangerous like how?" asked Stiles.

"Like the zone outs. You could put yourself into a coma in the middle of a stressful situation and then what? Jim zoned out in front of a garbage truck once. Scariest freakin thing- well actually we saw a lot of scary shit but you get the point," said Blair.

Stiles stayed quiet, rethinking the habit of hiding that the Nogitsune had trained into him.

"And you're seeing _white_ , man. White. Like, _the end of the tunnel_ , white. Do you know how far under you're going? There's no guarantees we can pull you back from something like that."

"So what the hell is this? Am I sick or something-"

"Well, how did it start? There was probably a trigger. How long has this been going on?"

"Little stuff, over the past month," said Stiles, cagey with the details. "Then in the last week it kinda went crazy. I just figured I... overloaded."

Blair nodded like it made sense. "Well, yeah. What happened a month ago?"

Stiles wasn't about to admit to anything about the Nogitsune and the Oni and the death of a friend. It would only be used to hang him in a place like the sanctuary. He shook his head.

"I don't know," he said instead. Blair's hyperactive energy seemed to freeze then.

"Come on man. I'm trying to help," he said. "We start at the beginning or we can't go anywhere. This isn't the kind of science that can be exactly measured."

"You still haven't told me what this even is," said Stiles. "And I'm the one sitting in a jail with everything that would love to kill me, okay? So I take the fifth and we start now."

Blair seemed to calm down then; he could visibly shift gears from the crazy hippie to the supposed doctor who could help. "Okay. Let me back up then. What I think you're going through? It's nothing weird. You're not a freak. It's rare. But it's human. It's a genetic throwback to tribal societies. Whenever you had a group of people living on the plains, living in the forests, there were dangers to the whole group. The heightened senses thing, that came in pretty handy toward protecting the group. Better hearing, better sight, the obvious... So there was always someone who looked out for the tribe. A sentry, a sentinel."

"I've got a pack, not a tribe, and we live in a city," said Stiles, annoyed. He wasn't cool with being called primitive when he was used to dealing with werewolves that would have eaten cro-magnon.

"And apparently your pack likes to play with things that bite back, so _you_ came online as their sentinel," said Blair. The assessment was a little too close to the truth and Stiles glared at him for it. He held up his hands. "You evoked fifth amendment rights, man. I'm just guessing."

Stiles went quiet then. His attention wandered off to the windows and the view of the yard. From this high up, all he saw was cloudy sky above the top of the building forming the other side of the round wall. The hyper doctor waited him out.

"Did they tell you about this place?" said Stiles finally. He nodded toward the windows. "Like, do you actually know who's out there?"

Blair scrunched his nose, on a fence about answering. "I have a certain level of clearance. And I know I lost my friend to a place like this. This isn't a mental institution like the charter says."

Stiles felt like he needed to push. If the guy could help him, he had to figure out where he stood and that wasn't something Stiles did by following the rules. First rule of werewolf club was _don't talk about werewolf club_ , so maybe he could get the new guy to break it. He leaned on the table, insistent as he pointed to the windows. "Yeah, but do you know why?"

" _Yeah_ , I know why," said Blair. He sounded frustrated. "And you mentioned the pack back home so I know you do, too. And you know what they're worried about with your case. So I can't help you prove them wrong if you're not going to work with me here."

The man caught on faster than Stiles figured he would and he almost trusted the reaction. He let it stay quiet, still trying to sort out who he could trust in a sanctuary built to keep crazies who talked about werewolves locked up without trial. Blair shook his head, not as patient as Stiles, which was kind of hilarious to think about.

"Look. What I'm saying is you're the pack sentinel, okay? You're the guard dog for the guard dogs. I don't know how that happened but it doesn't mean you're one of the wolves, you just run with the pack. That's what I wanna prove," said Blair. He talked with his hands a lot, and Stiles caught himself trying to figure out Derek's human-lie-detector trick listening for a heartbeat. He got dragged back to listening to the man's words a moment later when he heard the phrase "can send you home again."

"I can go home?" Stiles asked, interrupting. "If it's just the sentinel thing then I can go home?"

The doctor looked exasperated enough to cause damage. " _Yes!_ That's what I was trying to tell you. Work with me, we get you out of this. It's just a guess but I'm betting you don't have the internal weaponry built in to survive long here." He pointed to the cast on Stiles' arm. "You aren't healing. Ergo, no shape shifting. No claws. No teeth."

The reaction seemed genuine and surprised Stiles. "How do you know any of that?"

"I told you, I lost my friend to a place like this. I've kind of made this stuff my number one priority the last couple of years."

That made sense to Stiles; he had done the same thing for Scott. He felt himself wanting to trust Blair a little more. The man carried on since Stiles stayed quiet.

"These guys can't prove you're what we say you are, just like they can't prove you're anything else. They're gonna let me work with you. But that doesn't mean they believe me either. So we still have to prove it," he said.

Stiles let out a laugh. "So, what, I'm a lab rat?"

The man shrugged it off. "Well, I could lie and say _no way_. If that would make you feel better. But that's the deal for me to help you. Far as they're concerned anyway."

His pride had been abused enough the past few days that Stiles automatically started shaking his head. "Nope. Nuh uh."

"Between you and me, this doesn't look much like a lab, does it?" Blair waved a hand around to indicate the high-class, expensive conference room. Then his attention settled back on Stiles. "Look. Jim was my lab rat buddy, okay? I already know everything I need to in order to get you on your feet. Just don't tell these guys that or you're back with the general pop-"

Stiles pointed at the windows again. "I _am_ in with the general population here."

"But you're not a wolf."

"They can't prove it."

"So they wanna kill you? No way. Nuh Uh. We're getting you put somewhere safe." Blair actually stood up like he intended to back up the boast with action. That meant the warden got involved. Stiles shook his head quickly.

"I got somebody watching my back. I froze up earlier-" he said. Blair interrupted him.

"And he pulled you out of it?"

"No, it was somebody else," said Stiles, surprised by the question. "I just- I don't leave much now but this guy still looks out for me so far."

Still moving away from the table, Blair waved for him to abandon his safe seat at the table and brave the warden's territory.

"Okay. I need to meet this guy. We need to figure out if he can pull you back next time. What's his name? I'm getting you both moved."

Stuck between believing the man or not, Stiles stalled. "Uh. Ellison. That's what he told me."

The answer made Blair stop, sending the man so still that Stiles swore the whole room went silent. Everything outside of it got slightly louder. And then Blair found his voice again. "Are you kidding me?"

"Yes. I'm lying," said Stiles, tone flat as he rolled his eyes. "Because you called me a lab rat."

It was like Stiles had declared Christmas early or something. Blair literally started bouncing where he stood. "Oh man. We're going on a field trip. _Right_ now."

"Great, let me get my dad to fax over a permission slip..."

The sass wasn't appreciated and Blair started back toward the table with obvious intent. He was very obviously forcing patience. "You're eighteen and the warden's who we're talking to," he said. Stiles shook his head.

"She doesn't exactly like me."

"What? Why? You've been here like three days-" Standing at his shoulder, Blair stared at him like Stiles was some kind of stupid. Which he felt like he was so Stiles allowed it.

He nodded. "And I was in the infirmary for two of them and I broke out twice and the only operational outside line in this whole place is _her_ office..."

"Okay... Drastic measures then. _I'm_ going on a field trip." He all but dumped Stiles out of the chair pushing the top to steer the big chair away from the table toward the door. It was actually kind of funny so Stiles went along with it that time.

"Perks of still being labeled a free citizen?" he asked.

Blair shook his head and went back to catch Stiles' shoulder and tug him toward the door.

"Perks of having a lab rat," he clarified. "You're gonna show me your cage."

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

“What do you mean I can’t go see where you’re keeping the kid?” Blair’s protest was loud and Stiles winced. Over the last five minutes he had learned that the _Dr._ part in Dr. Blair Sandburg’s name was a phD kind of doctor. He was a _nerd_. Better than that, he was an _anthropology_ nerd. Stiles’ opinion of him had changed drastically watching the man argue animatedly with the warden. But his opinion on the warden hadn’t changed: she still hated him.

“I mean, _no_. The kid’s a risk, Blair,” said Warden Thompson, who Stiles now knew to be Miranda Thompson and she and Blair had a thing. It was like watching a daytime soap watching Blair work a room.

“I get that he’s a risk, Miranda, but he’s also _at_ risk, so I want to see where you’re keeping him and what I have to work with here,” said Blair. “He’s not like the others and you can’t just expect him to fend for himself against claws. I mean, come on!” Blair pointed to where Stiles stood off to the side and Stiles tried to look the part of a deer caught in headlights. “I am pretty sure he didn’t do that to himself, so unless you’re going to tell me the guards have taken to scratching holes in people’s necks and shoving their faces into the dirt, I think you’ll agree the kid isn’t safe.”

“What am I supposed to do about that, Blair? Handcuff him in an interrogation room twenty-four-seven? He won’t stay where he’s told and the only protections we have don’t seem to work,” said the warden.

“Yes, because he’s not like _them_ ,” said Blair, exasperated. “That’s my point. They won’t work. But there’s stuff we can do to make him safer, right? He needs a safe place to stay and he needs a babysitter.”

Stiles pulled a face at the chosen terminology. Then he realized the one time he had tried wandering off on his own, he had ended up in the dirt and saved by Victoria Argent, so maybe it wasn’t that far off. The warden didn’t seem to agree and she and Blair argued around in circles for another minute or so. Stiles stayed quiet and watched, listened.

It was interesting because they were both lying. Blair never mentioned Ellison, and the warden didn’t once ask Stiles who his roommate was that Blair wanted assigned as babysitter. They both already knew. And as the tension notched up, Stiles realized that neither one of them were going to say anything because _Ellison_ was Blair’s buddy _Jim_ , the one he had ‘lost’ to a place like the sanctuary. And the second Blair admitted knowing that, Stiles would be on his own because the warden would have to move Ellison somewhere else again. That was almost enough to panic over.

And then Stiles got an idea. Trying to ignore the argument going on in front of him, he tried to remember what it felt like before the white outs of the last few days. He would focus on something and then catch focus on something else and he would just keep chasing that lost attention span further into his own head. The end result would be that he went very still and no longer interacted with the outside world. He could psych the warden out and tip things in Blair's favor. So, as an experiment, Stiles stared out the window and tried to be still. He didn’t want to focus on any one thing because that would just make him lose track of everything else and he really would zone out. The idea he was going for was just to fake it.

He _kind of_ missed his target.

 

***

 

The signs were hardly recognizable and Blair realized it had been ages since he had seen his own sentinel. If the kid could put himself this far under after just a month of overload, he was gambling with a kid's safety on the hope that Jim was even still alive. But the usual tricks didn't get through and Stiles just stood there, staring out the window, completely unresponsive to his surroundings. A strong breeze could probably knock him down. When it became clear Blair couldn't get through to him, Miranda picked up the phone on her desk.

"I'll get him put back in medbay," she said to Blair. He nodded absently.

"Told you he needs someone who can get through-" Blair glanced back at just the right moment that he saw her punching numbers on the phone. It triggered something in his head and he dove to hang up the call. "Wait! He said he needed an outside line-"

"What?" Miranda asked.

"When he broke in your office, he said he wanted an outside line. Who did he call?"

Miranda shook her head. "He wouldn't tell me. We have no address-"

Blair waved it off. "But you've got the number?"

Rather than answer, the woman reached for Stiles' file on the corner of the desk. Blair snatched it and they worked together to sort out the notes and find the number. Blair immediately had his own phone out to dial it. He knew the sanctuary would have called it, but that would show up as a government number. Blair's caller ID name had the _Dr._ in front of it.

Someone picked up for his call. Blair didn't even give them a chance to talk.

"Hi! Look, this is a weird question but I swear it's not a crank call so hang in there with me," Blair said in a rush. "But do you know a kid named Stiles? About eighteen or so? Bit of a smart ass?"

There was quiet and a deep breath before an answer. "Yeah, I know him."

Blair watched Stiles as the man on the other end of the line spoke up. He didn't have the phone on speaker but Stiles twitched. That was enough for Blair. "Okay, great. This is going to be more weird, trust me, I know, but Stiles is here and kinda- well, he knows you. I'm going to put you on speaker... Can you just talk to him for a minute?"

"Is he okay?"

"That's a long story, but he can't hear me right now," said Blair. "I think he can hear _you_."

"Shit."

That wasn't the most effective use of the English language that Blair had ever heard but it wasn't like he didn't understand it. "At this point it really doesn't matter, just give him something to focus on and we'll be golden, man. Anything."

And so Blair got to listen to two minutes of story time with a complete stranger trying to talk an eighteen year old kid off a white-out ledge. Names were dropped - Scott, Lydia, Kira, Malia - and summaries given of their academic efforts since Stiles had been gone. Whoever the Malia person was had stopped participating in classes and mostly scowled at the teachers as potential threats. But the stranger was quick to add that Stiles' dad wasn't on her list and that his dad was fine. Blair watched it sink in on Stiles' face and slowly the kid came around. He gasped like someone had dumped water over his head and nearly fell. Blair had been expecting it and helped him sit instead of fall. He crouched in front of Stiles, checked his eyes to be sure he was responding again to shadows and light, then held out the cellphone.

"Tell him you're okay, man," Blair said. He didn't want to be a total boss about it but he knew a little too well what the guy on the other end of the line must be thinking. At first Stiles tried to wave the phone off, too dazed to process. Then he heard "Stiles?" from the open connection and was suddenly alert. His eyes darted toward Miranda and Blair noticed.

"Tell him you're okay and you'll call him back later," said Blair.

"I'm better," Stiles finally said. He still hadn't touched the phone. "Thanks, man. Bye."

Blair ended the call then before Stiles could stress out about the person on the other end meeting the warden again. That alone told Blair all the important stuff. He sighed and looked back over his shoulder.

"Not a wolf," he said.

"Not conclusive," Miranda replied. "He stays here. And _you_ go nowhere near the block."

Blair looked back to Stiles. "Don't do that again."

"What just happened?" Stiles asked. He meant the phone.

"You needed something familiar to bring you back. Someone you trust can kind of... Reach in and get you when you get stuck in your senses like that," said Blair. It was a huge oversimplification but he wasn't going to haul out his thesis for the long version. "Think of it like snipers. In the military, they have pairs do that stuff. Someone to take the shot and someone to watch his back while he's doing it. _You're_ hardwired for that. You need somebody to ground you."

Stiles wasn't a very colorful kid to start with but he went very pale at that. "What, I'm supposed to call him every time now?"

"No," said Blair, patient and yet annoyed at the circumstances. "Ideally, you wouldn't have to _call_ him because he would be with you in high pressure situations. Or near enough that you could know where to find him. But this is far from ideal. So we gotta figure out ways to get around this little detail."

"How?"

"I've got a limited case study, here, man. And my lab rat is two years gone now." Blair was very careful how he said that. Stiles seemed to catch it. "So you and me have to start over from square one. Just stick with your roommate for now. Make him tell you stories or something like this guy did, maybe it'll work in the meantime."

Stiles slowly nodded and Blair grinned at him; the kid caught on quick.

 

***

 

Stiles returned to his little corner of the block with a resealable tin of mountain ash. His trick to force the warden's hand had only heightened her awareness, not changed her mind. He could ash the space by the door and have a safe place to hide when he needed one. The other thing on his agenda was to interrogate his roommate. He at least waited until the guards had opened the doors again and left the block before he went about hunting info. Ellison looked at him funny for leaving the trail of ash from wall to wall.

"Don't break that line," said Stiles, pointing at it helpfully. Ellison just raised an eyebrow over the edge of his book. Then Stiles jumped on the topic he wanted to hear about.

"Blair Sandburg."

Ellison turned his attention back to the book in his hands. Stiles crossed his arms. He could be stubborn too.

"Did you know he's got a doctorate?" he asked. "They had to use his thesis to lock you up and toss the key, so he had to be a valid expert in order to do it. So he works at the university again he said."

"That's nice," said Ellison. He pretended to be distracted by his book but Stiles could tell it was a front.

"Can I trust him?" he asked. The question made a dent and Ellison set the book down.

"You just told me the guy profited off of _me_ being locked up with _werewolves_ ," he said, not impressed by Stiles' logic.

"Yeah, I did," said Stiles. "That's why I asked _you_."

That got Ellison's attention. Finally he nodded. "Yeah. I trust him."

 

***

 

Blair sat in his car outside the sanctuary. It wasn't actually his car. It was an old beat up truck that he had somehow kept alive for two years. It ate gas like it thought Blair was made of money or something and the mileage was worse than terrible. But it wasn't his truck so he couldn't trade it in. It was on permanent loan. The owner sat in a jail cell surrounded by werewolves. Of all the crazy things they had ever gotten in to... Werewolves.

And now Blair had a new sentinel to back up his thesis. Two proved they weren't crazy. He had hundreds of documented cases on one or two heightened senses, but Stiles Stilinski looked like he had all five, just like Jim. Blair had a lot of work to do to get the kid out. And if he could, maybe he could get Jim out of the deal too. If they could unquestionably prove Stiles was harmless, it would follow to Jim. Everybody wins.

That started with the basics. He needed the kid's health history. Genealogy. Family records. General background stuff. All a few phone calls. The harder part was another phone call. And Blair didn't know yet what kind of maneuvering he would need to do after that. But he had to start somewhere. So he pulled out his cell phone and redialed.

"Stiles?" came the same voice Blair had heard a half hour earlier. It barely rang once.

"Waiting by the phone?" Blair asked, amused. There was an almost audible let-down on the other end of the line.

"If you didn't call back, we were calling you," the man said. "I'm with the sheriff. You're on speaker this time."

"Oh good."

"Who are you?"

Introductions went around, including the full list of boring and completely certifiable credentials. And Blair launched into the arrangement with the sanctuary, with emphasis on the consulting part so the people on the other end of the line didn't lump him in with the sanctuary and shut him down. He was trying to help Stiles, that was the point, and he didn't have all the resources he needed since he and Stiles were in another state.

"I'm trying to get him out of here. And I'll need help from you guys," he said.

"We'll do what we can from down here," said Sheriff Stilinski. Seriously, did law enforcement run in the sentinel coding too or something? Blair stored the thought away and moved on.

"Well, there's the problem. Well it's not like a _problem_ and I didn't ask because, hello, _sanctuary_ , but I think it might be a slight hitch for a whole list of reasons but..." Blair winced, preemptively expecting a negative. "I need - Derek was it? Right - Derek should be up _here_. He's the only one we've seen pull him out. So far they've had to wait until Stiles came out on his own and I just watched Derek bring him back over the phone."

"So I keep my phone on me down here," said Derek. The confusion bordered on annoyance and Blair wondered if Derek was just naturally a cheerful personality.

"Well you could but there's- a really long story." Blair sighed.

"You in a hurry?"

"I'm sitting in my truck outside a prison, man," said Blair. "This is hardly the best place for long stories."

"I'm not overly sympathetic since my son is _in_ the prison," replied the sheriff. Blair paused, nodded grudgingly at the steering wheel.

"Point."

"What is going on with my kid?"

"Just like I told him, it's nothing bad. It's a genetic thing, but something triggered it and he has to learn to _control_ it," said Blair.

Blair didn't have super-human hearing but there was a conversation happening on the other end of the line and he thought he heard the sheriff say the word ' _Nogitsune_ ' in it. His jaw dropped.

"Woah. Woahwoahwoah man. Did I just hear that?" The answering silence said plenty. "Are you telling me a Nogitsune triggered him? Holy crap, no wonder he can get that kind of range-"

"What are you talking about?" said Derek. He and Stiles both, hard-headed nuts to crack apparently and wouldn't be easy to convince of anything. Life wasn't fair for anybody.

"Something had to bring him online. I mean it could have just been normal, he's a teenager, right, but why didn't it come out in his dad if it was just that close to the surface? It's just heightened senses, man - not that being able to hear a car backfire five miles away isn't a bitch to deal with - so there would have been a gradual thing, not all at once like this. He is _on-line_. And my Asian mythology's a little rusty but a fox demon could definitely do it. That kid shouldn't be _alive_ -"

"Yeah, we're aware of that, thanks," came Derek's grouchy voice.

"What I'm saying is he's putting himself in this kind of coma from sensory overload because of this _supernatural_ event, anything could happen here. We are way outta my comfort zone here," Blair admitted. "I still think it's genetic. I think it's just his senses are naturally stronger. But if he's getting a boost on top of that, it explains why he goes so far he passes a black-out and just sees white."

"What's wrong with white?"

He had kind of thought it was obvious so it took a moment for him to answer. "Light at the end of the tunnel? I mean, speaking metaphorically there but... He's letting everything in, when the normal zone outs shut the extra sensory input _out_. It's like the overload is on loop and digging deeper."

There was a moment of quiet as the people on the other end processed it all. They seemed to believe him, which would have been amazing except people who believed in werewolves should have no problems understanding heightened senses running amok.

"What does that have to do with me? Why can't I just pick up the phone when it rings?" Derek asked.

"Well the easy answer is it has nothing to do with you and you can do what you need to," said Blair. "But the guy needs someone to focus on to keep him from chasing the sound of a squirrel in a tree half a mile away. Think of it like a baseline. Someone familiar, who's got his back. From what I saw in the warden's office, that's you buddy. If you're up here, he can control it better and go home faster. I hope, anyway."

"Fine," said Derek. At the same time as the sheriff said "Not possible."

"I could guess why it's not possible," said Blair quickly. "But it's just for a few days I hope. And I don't get a lot of time with him. It's more... Emergencies. I'm not gonna have the warden call Derek when Stiles puts himself under. She can call me and I can give him the phone if we have to."

"You can't seriously be considering this," said the sheriff, obviously to Derek. "You walk in that place, they won't let you out."

"I'm okay with lying to the warden," said Blair quickly. "It's not like we have to advertise."

"Yeah and one screw up and we've got the both of them in lock-up," said the sheriff.

"Fine, then either way they let me keep him alive until they figure out he's not a threat," said Derek. That pretty effectively shut down the sheriff's complaints. Blair pounced.

"How soon can you get here?"

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

As it turned out, Jim Ellison knew a lot about the sentinel stuff. He helped Stiles with tricks and mind games he could play on himself, different ways to try to "dial back" the sensory overload. Stiles was an ADHD headcase half the time and the amount of focus required to sort through all the noise - _without_ jumping tangents and skimming on to the next idea - was exhausting. But at dinner, he did what Ellison suggested and tried imagining a dial for the senses, focused on making that imaginary dial slide back a few notches when it got too high. Dinner was steak and BBQ sauce with mashed potatoes for flavoring and Stiles managed seconds. He was starving and the trick worked.

That night, for the first time in a week, Stiles actually fell asleep like a normal person rather than call a sensory overload "sleep." He did the dial-trick rather than count sheep and he was pretty sure he had effectively upgraded the ancient dial system idea to a digital slider and a mute button.

He slept through breakfast but woke up in time for lunch. Ellison said the ash line at the gate worked perfect, which was no surprise. Stiles felt safe in his bunk. He stayed there all day, running his hands along the walls and trying to control how much he picked up from just his immediate surroundings.

His babysitter left him alone to figure it out, only checked on him to be sure he hadn't zoned. Stiles came close a couple times but Ellison never had to get involved. It was homework, and it was hard, and tiring, but it was all up to Stiles. Nobody could do it for him. If he could put himself into a coma, he could keep himself out of it. And half the time he heard Ellison lurking not far away, so he figured the guy was spying with his own hyperactive senses. It was like Stiles had permission to play with the sentinel thing, even if it was difficult.

His digital slider scheme didn't quite stick though. A slider slides and so the volume didn't always stay where he put it. Or at least that's what he chose to blame it on; after practicing all afternoon, the thought that he didn't have control was just offensive. He tried to focus more on his hearing and turned down everything else - not recommended, because the mouth without a sense of taste was just like a dead weight at the front of his face - when he wanted to isolate specific sounds from the mess everything became when he tried to pull from too far out. It was all channels of information and Stiles was great with that, a total pro.

He just wasn't an expert with the sensory thing. The focus on the dial traded for the focus on the sound of a bird rushing out of a tree and he zoned out.

 

***

 

"...something wrong with him... Ellison? ... Can't watch out for a kid..."

Stiles didn't know the voice but he followed it back anyway. He could hear it through everything else, it was something to hang on to. And then he was gulping on air from the shock of everything coming online again at the highest setting. It was like his skin was on fire, his ear drums wanted to burst from abuse, his eyes were stabbing daggers back into his brain, and he refused to acknowledge the gross pain that was his sense of smell and taste just then.

"Stiles? Yes or no, son, do we need to call for medbay?" the stranger's voice asked. She sounded nice and it calmed him. The dials went back where he wanted them and he squinted an eye open. He saw the dark haired woman from the tree grove standing at the gate to his cell, stopped by the ash line and not happy about it.

"Are you alright?" she asked. Stiles nodded quickly.

"Sorry. It's a... Thing. I'm not supposed to do that. So thanks for bringing me out of it," he said. The woman arched an eyebrow and Stiles absently decided she must be part Hale because _wow_ could she pack some serious judgement in that eyebrow lift.

"Victoria just went to get Ellison," she said. "Maybe you should stand up and walk it off."

More stuff Stiles didn't have the first clue about. Was he supposed to walk it off or was he supposed to meditate? Would he trigger more if he moved too soon or if he stayed still? He needed to ask Ellison.

"Seriously, chief? I was _just_ here..." He heard the man muttering over the echo of running footsteps.

"I know, I know, but it's not like I did it on purpose this time," Stiles said in his own defense. The woman at the door looked at him with a kind of surprise and Stiles pretended he didn't notice. Ellison showed up at the door and brushed past her with hardly an acknowledgment, reminding Stiles of the man's warning to leave the women alone. Victoria Argent was on his heels, looking pissed off, so the warning made sense. Crouched beside the bunk, Ellison got in his face and checked his visual responses. When he seemed satisfied, Stiles relaxed a little.

"I thought I had it," he said. "But it... slipped."

"What is going on with you?" Victoria asked, ever brusque and cold. Stiles was glad she couldn't cross the ash line. He shook his head.

"Nothing," he said. The dark haired woman crossed her arms as she looked from Stiles to Victoria. Like she knew something.

"You're Claudia's boy, aren't you?" she asked. Too surprised by the question to really know how to react, Stiles nodded. The woman looked to Ellison then. "If you can't keep him safe, we take him off your hands."

"Come on," said Ellison, annoyed at the woman ordering him around. "I literally just checked on him five minutes before Victoria showed up."

"Yes and there's a pack of us to one of you if he needs that kind of monitoring," the woman said.

It was interesting to watch and Stiles' curiosity was killing him but he stayed out of it; he felt safe where he was and Victoria Argent was the opposite of anything safe for Stiles. Ellison and the two women went back and forth about responsibility and humanity and Ellison balked as they set down actual expectations for the care and maintenance of Stiles. If he wasn't so surprised he would have been mad on principle. Instead he barely managed not to laugh and looked at Ellison with all the innocence he could manage. The man was going to kill him, he knew it. But Victoria Argent had just threatened somebody's life in Stiles' defense and he wasn't sure his world could slide any more sideways than it already had.

They were saved by the lights flashing that warned of a lockdown. The two women couldn't enter the cell so they left, trying to beat the gates that would lock them in the hall when the guards came.

 

***

 

The lockdown was because of Stiles again and if he were in a better headspace, the power trip would have been fun. Two guards were paid just to spring him from a jail cell, and everybody on the block was momentarily displaced to let him out of it, just because Sandburg showed up. From what Ellison said, lockouts were common enough but somebody walking out the front door wasn't. (Medbay didn't count.) The warden didn't like him but he got the rock star treatment anyway, minus the rifles and pistols and utility belts with knives and pepper-spray that smelled like aconite and mint, not pepper.

In light of the walking armory, Stiles kept quiet and listened to the clank of the elevator over all the other sounds in the front of the building. They passed conversations with each floor, he caught perfumes like a ghost trail, and he really wanted to tell the mouth-breather guard in the elevator with him to stop making the room muggy. (He didn't, but he wanted to.)

Then they were back on the top floor where he winced at the brightness. He stood still just inside the doors, closing his eyes to better filter some of the input. With a little concentration, he lost track of the noises that weren't right in front of him on the warden's floor. The guards didn't push him but one of them told him to get moving. Stiles started to and then hesitated when he realized he couldn't get one particular sound to go away. It was like a heartbeat but it wasn't his or the two guards'. It didn't sound like it was in the hall with them. He heard Blair's voice then and listened.

"He's my control group here, Miranda. If something pings on Stiles, I still need an extra set of eyes to make the association," Blair said. He tried to aim for the warden's office, since that was where he heard Blair, but he was quickly steered toward the conference room.

"No offense to Mr. Hale, but you brought a set of _werewolf_ eyes," said Miranda. That stopped Stiles in his tracks.

"I did not," said Blair.

"Please. The Hales are a known family-"

"So? Not all families have a one-hundred-percent genetic pass-down trait on lycanthropy. Mr. Hale isn't a problem. Clean background; I checked. You don't know if he's anything more than a carrier of a gene and have no cause to investigate," said Blair. "I need him to help with Stiles. He's here for that, then he leaves with me, and there's no trouble."

Nope. There was going to be trouble. Stiles was going to start it. He was going to flatten Blair for wanting to bring Derek anywhere near here. And then Stiles realized the source of the heartbeat he heard. It had been a steady, calm _thump_ the whole time and even now, cover so obviously blown, the heart rate stayed in the same pattern.

"Derek?" Stiles asked the hall, still ignoring the guards telling him to go inside the conference room. The steady heartbeat seemed to falter. Stiles' brain got stuck. Derek had walked into Werewolf Guantanamo for him? There was a low level frustration with Blair for letting him do it, but... Derek had promised to show up and get him out and now he stood in the warden's office.

"Come on, Miranda. It's a few hours a day," said Blair. "Lock us in if you're paranoid. Just think of it as field work for me."

"I hate how you work," the warden said.

"Naw, that's just because my way's more fun."

Whatever Miranda said in response sounded annoyed and frustrated. Stiles was too distracted to catch it. But then the door opened and Derek showed up first. Stiles could only stare as he walked out, Blair following behind. It was suddenly the next best thing to getting to go home. Acting like a reasonable adult under the circumstances faded quickly from Stiles' list of priorities and he snuck away from his distracted guards to pounce on Derek in a full-on hug normally reserved for Scott. Derek had his thing, he didn't like to be touched, but Stiles was deprived and shocked all at once. Just to add to his surprise, he realized Derek hugged him back.

"Yeah, the kid's real dangerous, Miranda," said Blair dryly from nearby. Stiles almost didn't hear it. He was more or less melting from a simple hug. His dad had hugged him earlier that week, in the hours before Agent McCall showed up with the hunter extraction team, but that was his dad. Dad-hugs were always awesome. The revelation of the day was that Derek-hugs were borderline obscene; he'd never stolen one before and now Stiles didn't want to let go. He even smelled good, which after the past two days of cell block aroma-anti-therapy was an honest relief. Stiles would be yelled at for zoning on a hug but it was definitely in the realm of possibility.

"Stiles?" Derek asked, quietly hinting.

"Nope, he's not home, call back later," said Stiles. He hitched the hug a little tighter like he could hide because for the first time in days he felt alright. Nothing haywire or crazy, just normal. Derek allowed it and didn't abandon him to the awkwardness of it, just held on until Stiles finally pulled back.

"Sorry," Stiles said, wiping his face on his shoulder like he had an itch. Nope, he wasn't seriously messed up by a hug or anything, _nope not at all_. Derek looked at him, judging and thinking and not missing it. He pointed to the cast on Stiles' arm.

"What happened?" he asked. Stiles shrugged. Aware of the warden, he gave the abridged version of events as he knew them. Derek huffed, annoyance obvious to anyone who knew him, but he was on his best behavior for the warden. Blair was watching them like he knew something.

"Is this going to be a regular thing then?" Stiles said. "Lockdowns to get me out every afternoon?"

"For now," said Warden Thompson. "Blair thinks he can help you, so we'll let him try."

Blair's attention snapped to Miranda. "Can I go check his space if it's in lockdown?"

"No," said Miranda. Blair nodded like he expected that.

"But I need to know what he's currently exposed to, so if you won't let me go in there, what about Derek here?"

It wouldn't do him any good to _kill_ the only expert on what was going weird on him. But he really wanted to. Instead, Stiles caught Derek's arm to tug him back, away from Blair and his stupid ideas.

"No way," said Stiles.

" _Yes_ way," replied Blair. "If the Hales are a known family then there's no risk letting him walk around in there. He's guaranteed survival if he gets turned. I might not, but Derek would be fine."

"Oh my god-"

"Stiles can't give me a baseline to know what's above average right now," Blair argued. He wanted Derek to scout the place, see what Stiles was fighting with just where he stayed, and provide the unbiased normal perspective. "This isn't a measurable science, Miranda. It's all based around what goes on with him. You have to give me the basics to work with."

It was like Blair knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it this time. He and Miranda stood in the admin-level lobby arguing until he managed to trip her up. What was her priority: the boy's health or proving he was a wolf? Either way, Blair needed his baseline.

That was how, fifteen minutes later, the block was put in another lockdown and Stiles was sent back. With Derek. There wasn't much of a fight about it because Derek seemed in on the plan. He wouldn't tell Stiles anything about it, he just gave him The Look. The one that said to back his play or get claws. It didn't mean Stiles had to like it and he scowled on the walk down the vacant cell block.

"Are you seriously here right now, being stupid?" he asked, quiet.

"Seriously here right now, being smarter than you," said Derek. He looked around at cells that were mostly empty, all the doors closed. It wasn't a wide hallway between the cells and Stiles hovered near Derek, somewhere between his normal default in the hall and protective of _his_ werewolf. The one who wasn't supposed to be there. The walk back to the cell was different but it hadn't sunk in why, beyond Derek's presence. The air felt drier and the already pungent aroma of the place seemed to have taken on another few layers of smells that nobody in their right mind wanted to deal with. And Derek _volunteered_ to walk in.

"You can't actually go in," Stiles said, pointing to the line inside the gate. Derek stopped beside him, looked around with his usual feigned disinterest of new places. Stiles shook his head, amused despite himself. He was in werewolf jail and the actual werewolf looked almost bored to be there. The guy was scary-good at role-play. Stiles caught himself sorting through the low-roar of sounds he still wasn't used to in search of a heartbeat again to tell him if Derek was really that cool and collected about it. Movement in the cell dragged him back and Stiles noticed Jim jumping down from his bunk.

"Hey, you stayed in," he said.

"Safer than dealing with the women after you were taken out," said Jim. He leaned on the bars, not held back by the ash line, and looked Derek over like he would any other potential threat in the jail.

"He's only visiting," said Stiles helpfully. "This is Derek..."

"Your pack alpha back home?" Jim asked.

"No, Scott's alpha... Derek was just... First?" Stiles looked over at him, uncertain how to explain that Derek was the guy he let shove him up on walls when he was a jerk because the trade off was always having someone to bail him out.

"You're Jim," said Derek. He was quick to steer the conversation to things he was more comfortable with, which was generally anything not him.

"Ellison," said Jim, correcting him. They stared at each other, each running their own individual diagnostic assessments of the other.

"What happened to your head?" Derek asked. The question came so far from left field that Stiles looked over at Derek to be sure he hadn't missed something. Then he looked at Ellison and the faint red scar running along the side of the man's head. It was above his ear and stretched back and down, hiding well under his short hair. Stiles had seen it before but it wasn't his business to ask. To his surprise, Ellison didn't seem offended.

"The Bly House back east wanted to find out if I'm human or not," said Ellison. He nodded toward Stiles. "The sanctuary's handling it different. I'd like to keep it that way."

Derek nodded. "I'm supposed to ask where you've been but I guess that answered that."

"Yep. And I'm not in a hurry to get back to it."

"Blair wants you to work with him," said Derek. A nod in Stiles’ direction showed which _him_ was in question.

"I am working with him," said Jim. Just the right amount of frustrated to show he was arguing with Blair, not Derek. Stiles frowned; he was obviously out of a loop. And when exactly in his life did everyone decide to start talking about him like he wasn't right there in front of their faces? He waved a hand between the two men just to remind them. Derek acknowledged it by swatting his hand down but he didn't shift attention.

"Blair said you're supposed to actually work with him. _His_ definition of the word, not yours."

"Well, tell Blair that his definition of the word is not exactly possible from in here so I'll have to leave that up to him," said Jim.

"Why?" Stiles refused to be sidelined. "What's his definition?"

"Hands-on, shove bottles of smells up to your face, and odd things to taste, repetition, repetition," replied Jim, dismissive. "I don't exactly have access to the labs here and I sure as hell don't want to get in there either."

"We've got that stuff handled," said Derek. "He said you just need to work the repetition angle and show him what works. He said no cheating. No cutting corners. No zone outs."

Stiles looked from one to the other. Derek sounded like some kind of expert.

"When did you get here?" he asked.

"Last night," said Derek.

"Dude-"

"I read the dissertation this morning. If I'm putting in the work, you have to put in more," Derek went on.

"But I don't know-"

"Nope. But _he_ does," said Derek. He pointed over at Jim. "And he's not a vegetable, and he's not dead, so Blair wants him to teach you. Not sit you in a corner and let you zone."

That was twice in one day somebody lectured Jim on how to keep Stiles in line and it was frustrating. "I'm not his fault, Derek. He doesn't have to help me. I have to figure it out-"

Derek crossed his arms and nodded. He was very quiet when he spoke up, interrupting and making him be quiet to hear him at all. "Yeah, you do. Because if we get you out by proving you have nothing to do with this place, we can get the both of you out. So you don't have to figure it out on your own. He's the expert, so Blair says he needs to get back online."

"I _am_ online. But the kid's got it worse than I ever did," said Jim.

"So just coach him," said Derek. "With the idea that the big game is sooner rather than later. Blair said you'd put it off unless we told you there's a deadline. So there's a deadline."

Jim considered it. He was hard to read. It didn't help that Stiles felt like a jerk for dragging the man into his problems. But going home had to be worth it. Jim finally shook his head.

"I'll help the kid, but you aren't understanding how this place works," he said. He stayed quiet to keep the whole block from hearing. "And I'm not going to spell it out for you. Do what you need to and I'll help. But make sure Blair knows I will kill his hippie-punk ass if he gets me or the kid sent back to Bly."

"I'll let him know," said Derek. He didn't seem offended or worried either one. Stiles crossed his arms and shifted nervously as he glanced up and down the hallway.

"We gotta go. I don't wanna catch hell in here for the lockdowns, man," he said.

"Blair wanted to know if you've seen any triggers on this thing with Stiles," Derek said quickly. Jim shook his head.

"Stress? He puts himself under. I haven't been babysitting him to catch anything else," said Jim.

"Well please start," said Derek. "He's pack and I can't be here to help him. So I have to ask _you_."

Stiles mentally tripped. Jim nodded and only added a mild eyeroll to the delivery. "Got it."

Snatches of conversation from down the hall faded through the buzz of constant noise and Stiles caught Derek's arm. "We gotta go."

Derek didn't argue. He let Stiles tug him away and crowd his space on the walk back. He was close enough that Stiles stumbled and caught himself on Derek's arm, shoved his face in his shoulder on accident. He muttered an apology and tried not to be so paranoid.

"We gotta get you outta here, man," he said. "You're starting to smell like everything in it."

"That's because everything in it smells like fear, Stiles," said Derek. Stiles' offhand comment was accidentally relevant, surprising him. "This place is just... It reeks of fear. You and Ellison and your cell aren't as bad as everything else."

_Fear_ wasn't quite what Stiles expected the smell to be. He definitely didn't figure he would be less afraid of the place than anyone else. He had so much to sort out just to untangle the headache that was his senses.

 


	9. Chapter 9

They took over a room on the admin level, with windows that looked out on the yard. It was smaller than the conference room but bigger than the cell. More than enough room for the three of them and Blair's actual box of experiments to be run.

"I thought you said I wasn't a lab rat," Stiles complained.

"You're not. This isn't for me. All of this stuff is for you," said Blair. He started unpacking bags and bottles and fabric swatches and - "Yes that's actually chocolate and no _you_ can't have any, Derek."

The admonishment made Stiles draw his hand back from where he had been about to grab the bag of chocolate. A cloth bag with vegetables was plopped onto the table beside it. And jerky. And bread. And an onion. Stiles realized he was hungry but he didn't want a raw onion.

"Well, it's on the menu," Blair told him. According to the plan as Blair set it out, he would be tasting everything and smelling what wasn't edible. Stiles kept his disagreement to himself; he wasn't eating raw onion for the sake of science.

"Are you _trying_ to cause an overload?" he asked.

"No. It's practice. These we can isolate for you. Teach you to separate them out from the crazy amount of information you can pick up. Once you learn how to do that with this stuff, you should be able to fill in the blanks on everything else on your own," said Blair.

"Okay, I get it," said Stiles. And he did. It made sense and he was willing to try. "But why did you have to drag Derek in for that? He shouldn't be here."

"Technically, you dragged him in," Blair said, treading carefully but completely unapologetic. "You called him when you were cornered. Which makes sense, you know, that you'd call someone. But you didn't call your dad."

Exhausted and guilty, Stiles scrubbed at his face. "I know, I'm sorry-"

Blair shook his head, hands waving to cut the apology off. "No, man. What I'm getting at is that you calling him, that's a big flag for me that he's your back-up out there in the field, okay? That's why he's here. You trust him to help, and he said he will, so that _means_ something."

Stiles blinked at Blair like the man was crazy. "No it doesn't. He's straight."

It quickly became clear that Stiles hadn't understood whatever Blair was trying to say. He and Derek both went silent, surprise on their faces. Blair's expression threatened a smile like he knew a secret and Derek had gone back to his usual stoic.

"What?" Stiles asked. He wasn't sure how to fix whatever he had missed and he was too frustrated to try.

"That wasn't what I meant at all," said Blair, somehow patient and apologetic and smug all at once. "But since you brought it up, are _you_? Or is that why you called him? Not to pry or anything, but it is actually relevant."

That did nothing to clarify anything for Stiles. "Am I what?"

"Straight?" asked Derek. Stiles froze up. Not from a zone out or anything _useful_ but instead a simple case of something small and fluffy coming face to face with something larger with bigger teeth and claws and the intent to kill.

"I'm pretty sure that has nothing to do with me being in werewolf jail," he said when he found his voice again.

"No, but it would help to know whether or not that's why Derek's here," said Blair.

"He's here because you called him here," argued Stiles.

"No, he's here because you called him," said Blair. "And because you listen to him when you're zoned out. Which, like I said, that means something. To the sentinel thing. But if it means something else, too-"

"Can we just _not_ with whatever this conversation is and get back to the sentinel thing?"

To Stiles' absolute frustration, Blair looked over at Derek before agreeing to move on.

"Every sentinel had a guide, basically a partner. Someone who brought them back from zone outs, someone who watched their back when they were working," said Blair. "They're the healer and the teacher and they keep their sentinel grounded. They don't guarantee _no zone outs_ but they help."

"What? How?" Stiles felt a little panicky suddenly. "I don't want to draft anybody into this thing-"

Blair held up his hands to call for a time out. "You didn't draft anybody. It's just something you _do."_

"There's three heartbeats in the room right now," said Derek, drawing Stiles' attention back. "Can you hear any one louder than the other? Like, try to find the source of the sound?"

"Man, there is _so much_ sound it's like I stepped in a mosquito cloud all the time and all I hear is buzzing," Stiles said. Derek shrugged and nodded like he wasn't impressed.

"So try to find a single thing out of the mess. You have to learn how. That's the point," he said.

Frustrated, Stiles closed his eyes. He had no idea how he was supposed to find a single sound. It wasn't like a pile of marbles on the table he could just sort through. Sorting out the sounds was usually what he did to _trigger_ the zone outs, now he was doing it for educational purposes.

"If I die, it's your fault," he said, following the sound of his voice as the first sound to unravel. But this time he went right back to the sound he had first picked up in the hallway, multiple heartbeats and one louder. He wasn't just picking up those in the room; there were people in the hall but he couldn't tell how many, they were like echoes of each other. Stiles opened his eyes and hung on to the louder sound, trying to match it up. It wasn't very hard; Derek was right there staring at him and Blair had paced away.

"You're louder than the others," he said to Derek. It didn't help that the guy just nodded and watched him. Blair didn't seem surprised either.

"So that could be that you just happen to think Derek here is one fine specimen of man-flesh, because that's how crushes work," said Blair. Completely and annoyingly casual about suggesting Stiles had a thing for Derek freakin' Hale. He shrugged like it was no big deal. "Or it could be you're hard-wired to trust him and seek him out, because of instinct, because you need someone you can count on to bring you back and he somehow fit the job description."

There were few things in life more embarrassing than that moment. He could either admit out loud that Derek was one fine specimen of man-flesh or he could basically ask him for help and make Derek promise to keep visiting hours in werewolf jail. And Derek didn't like him well enough to want to show up every time Stiles hit an overload. He was really close to one now, but it wasn't like letting it happen would solve anything. He had to turn everything down, dial it back, and this time _don't use the digital slider_ because that one moved too easy. Stiles took a deep breath and tried to think how to get himself out of that corner.

"Okay, so if it's a crush, not a guide thing, he can go home?" he asked. He saw the surprise flash on Derek's face and then the warning hint of anger. One way or another, he caught on. He was going to kill Stiles either way. Time to call in the bagpipes and Amazing Grace. He tried to focus on convincing Blair. "Because yeah, it's a crush and I would climb that like a tree and it has nothing to do with it."

The problem with trying to lie around werewolves was they could tell when a person lied. And they could hear just as easily when there was no lie. And Stiles really wanted to go back to his little noisy cell and die. Blair wasn't going to go for it.

"That's not exactly convincing, for starters," he said. "And there's still the fact that he's the only one who has gotten through to you. So crush or not, he can still help. Partners are partners whether you kissy-face or not, man."

"No," said Stiles. "We'll call Lydia. I can prove it. She can do it too."

"Has she?"

"Well no but now you know you can call her," said Stiles, frustrated. "It's safer."

"Bird in hand is better than the one in the bush, Stiles," said Blair. "He said he can help, he came all the way up here-"

"But you were wrong, he shouldn't have been dragged into it," said Stiles. Blair looked at him like he was crazy.

"So, what, you want to trigger a zone out and see if a crush can pull you back? How many do we have to sort through, man?"

"Yes, fine, because it'll work," said Stiles.

"Oh my god, Stiles. Stop being stupid," said Derek. "I'm fine."

"You're afraid to be here, I'm afraid to have you here, so let's just call Lydia and prove you don't need to be here-"

Derek was in his space then, very much in his face and touching. The _Derek Hale space bubble_ had been invaded by Derek Hale. Stiles shut up quickly as he stared at him, eye to eye.

"I said I would help. I want to help. Stop this," he said. Stiles nodded, on auto-pilot.

"Okay."

"Thank you."

That response was not an expected one and Stiles took the excuse the man's presence offered to stare at him. It wasn't a contest or challenge, it was just... Derek. In his space. _Okay_. Another checkbox in the new stuff learned every day list: Derek didn't mind stinky, jail-blocked Stiles in his space. And everything around him came into clear focus, no overload, as he caught the scent that was very much Derek but it wasn't the fear Derek had told him about earlier. He frowned and tried to trace it.

"What's that?" he asked, not sure if he'd be understood. Derek grinned at him.

"You'll have to figure it out. That's what we're here for," he said. Outside their little bubble of shared space, Blair went bug-eyed.

"Holy crap. The kid picks up pheromones?!"

 

***

 

When Stiles was sent back to the lower levels, he was armed with homework. A few hundred pages of academic dissertation on the genetic throwbacks known as _sentinels_. It seemed a little over the top, calling painfully heightened senses something cool like sentinels, and Stiles had this thing against labels. He was Stiles, he wasn't a werewolf or anything supernaturally bent, he was just himself with the volume on everything turned all the way up. But Blair's book - really, he'd been published; Blair Sandburg _literally_ wrote the book on sentinels - was supposed to help him understand the background that Blair didn't have time to cover in their two hour visits. Jim Ellison was supposed to fill in the rest. That way they had two hours for Stiles to practice and learn control with Derek there, like a safety net.

The expected schedule seemed manageable and Stiles liked having a set plan to work with. It was better than staring at the walls and foretelling a future with nothing but the tiny room with the mountain ash and barred door. And Derek had given him a hug before he was escorted away, so Stiles was feeling slightly high at the moment; his sense of touch was _really screwed_ up but he could live with that on a daily basis.

Stiles tried to pay attention to the small changes on the air on the way to his cell. It wasn't actually that the air had changed at all, just his awareness of it. He knew what fear smelled like. And Blair had his own human scent that Stiles figured had to be happy excitement, the guy was always hyper. Derek was still just Derek, though, so Stiles couldn't pick up on anything different from what he was used to, except maybe relief there for a little while. But in the cell block it was just fear, and other subtle things Derek hadn't broken down for him. Anger probably had a scent too and Stiles would bet that was in the block once he figured it out.

When he could control the senses that he used to take for granted, the stuff he could learn about the world was somehow that much more interesting. He just had to get everything to calm down so he could identify individual pieces of sound or scent or taste instead of try to pick up on everything at once. It was like so much white-noise and he couldn't make anything come in to focus unless it was right in front of his face.

Derek had gotten in his face and it was actually awesome.

Stiles was fully distracted in his own head when he got to his cell and crashed into his bottom bunk with the book. He had work to keep him focused for awhile. He should read. Instead he flopped on his stomach and stared at the wall, trying to think about something that came from his own head. An original thought would be nice. Anything that wasn't started by a sample of conversation he overheard from somewhere else in the building, or the fact that he now associated the smell of his pillow with fear, or a dozen other tangents his brain could find without the added help of too much sensory input.

For the past few days, he had been reacting to things coming at him, with hardly the time or space to think it all through. Everything was doom and promises that he had failed. Now he had a game plan. There was light at the end of the tunnel. If Jim had learned to control the hyper-active senses, Stiles could too. And Jim didn't have anybody helping him.

There was no denying the impact Derek seemed to have on the way his senses worked. Around Derek, Stiles was almost normal and could focus on only his immediate surroundings. Without him, the volume went up and there was more static to sort through to find a clear channel. It told him that the senses thing was possible to control. He didn't want to be dependent on somebody else just to make sense of his own life, that wasn't his scene. He could, however, trust Derek to help him learn how it all worked. The guy hadn't let him down yet. If Stiles could trust help from anybody, it was Derek.

Which only left one problem. Stiles had copped to having a crush trying to get Derek to leave but he hadn't lied to do it. It was apparently the truth because it slipped out easily; he didn't have to think it up because it was stuck there at the front of his brain coloring everything Blair or Derek said to him for awhile. It wasn't exactly a surprise. It just wasn't something he had put thought in to before. It was now very real and stuck in his head. And now Derek knew about it. More baffling than that was the fact that Derek knew and still wanted to help. He called him pack, too; something stronger than family.

So what the hell did all of that mean?

And Stiles had never expected to wonder, at any point in his life, if maybe werewolf jail allowed conjugal visits. Derek was there to throw him a lifeline and Stiles' was daydreaming about the contact-high he got when Derek touched him. Stiles Stilinski was a terrible human being. That was the only possible conclusion he could come to.

He gradually realized that his pillow didn't smell like fear anymore. Stiles didn't have any answers to anything but he knew he was okay with the change.


	10. Chapter 10

The sanctuary sat in the middle of nowhere about two hours east of Cascade. It was a long commute but it was cheaper than staying nearby. Safer, too; Blair was dragging a werewolf in and out of the place. Maybe the lie was that Derek was just from a known family, but he was still at risk. It was easier to hide him in the city. But Derek Hale wasn't exactly a chatterbox. And that made for a very long drive.

To say nothing at all about the fact that Blair Sandburg, a trained anthropologist, was stuck for two hours next to an actual _werewolf_. It was kind of driving him crazy. He thought the sentinel find of Jim Ellison years ago was a holy grail, but an actual werewolf? The origin-story for legends that ranged every culture across the globe was in the bloodlines of the man sitting calmly and distractedly in the passenger seat. Another ten dissertations could be written off of the Hale family tree alone.

Blair kept quiet and didn't ask any of the dozen questions on the tip of his tongue at any time. Derek was there because he was worried about Stiles - _they were a pack!_ -and not to be harassed by someone fascinated by the wide and ever-expanding definitions of humanity.

"He'll be okay," said Blair at one point, just to break the quiet. "Jim's good. He'll take care of him."

"If he can," said Derek.

"He can. And what Jim can't take care of, the mountain ash will."

Derek was quiet for a time. Then he asked, "What's Bly House?"

"It's archaic. It's like every horror movie you've ever seen about an insane asylum, man," said Blair, shaking his head quickly. "I toured it once last year, right after I got my clearance. It's nothing like the sanctuary. It's not safe for anybody."

"The Sanctuary isn't safe," said Derek.

"No way. But it's better than the haunted mansion at Bly. Do you know what a place like that would do to a kid like Stiles? He'd go crazy."

"He already thinks he is."

"Except there he really would, man. Sentinels have heightened traditional senses," said Blair. Derek frowned over at him, brow furrowed.

"So?"

"So... There's a sixth sense, man. A place like Bly would kick that online for him. Nothing would ever stay dead, all that expired energy would be right there for him to pick up on somehow."

"That's where Ellison said he was," said Derek. "He's got surgery scars on the side of his head, above his ear."

They drove in silence for at least a mile before Blair found his voice again. He was somehow too shocked to process. Bly was the oldest of the so-called safe-houses, and the smallest, still operating under a charter that was around 150 years old. There was another one down in Texas, around Huntsville, that looked and operated just like any other maximum security prison. The sanctuary was low-level. Bly was for the walking dead with a short life expectancy. And Jim had been there. Even with his voice back, all Blair could do was swear.

"Are you sure Stiles is safe with him?" Derek asked, drawing Blair's attention back. Blair laughed out loud, sarcastic and not actually amused.

"How should I know? They won't let me even know he's there. If he was at Bly?" Blair shook his head. "You're talking about an ex-army ranger, fully online and ungrounded. For two years, man! I was kidding before, but I mean it now. He _should_ be a vegetable-"

"Well, he's not a vegetable. And he said he's going to kick your ass if you get either one of them sent back to Bly."

That sounded like Jim.

"And just for the record, I'll help," Derek went on. "So what we're doing isn't going to end up like that, right?"

"As long as we don't ask to talk to Jim again," said Blair. "Or talk about him at all."

And Blair had to spend the next five minutes explaining that Stiles was fine. His brain was stuck on Jim but he managed to reassure the werewolf that his boyfriend was fine.

"He's not my boyfriend. That was Stiles lying to try to send me home," said Derek. He was really good at the exasperated eyeroll. But he was also totally _blind_.

"Please," Blair said, probably more amused than was fair. "The kid escaped from the medbay twice. He's flippant and rude and challenges everyone on everything that I've seen so far. But he sure rolled belly up for you real fast."

"We're pack."

"The guys here carry lethal weapons and aim for the _head_."

"I was an alpha and I _am_ a lethal weapon," returned Derek.

" _His_ alpha?" asked Blair. Derek nodded at him. "So maybe that's why you can get through to him. The pack thing."

"His family can't," said Derek. "But pack is stronger. And he's the only one I've got left of mine."

"If you say so. Because that's so totally not what it looked like," said Blair. Derek glared at him for it. "What? I'm just _saying_..."

 

***

 

There was no set schedule other than mealtimes in the sanctuary. The lights in the place shut off predictably every night but the cell doors only closed for lockdown. Everything was free-range for the inmates. They could sleep under the stars if they wanted. But they couldn't lock their doors at night to sleep safe. It was all a gamble. Stiles had mountain ash to cheat with and it helped.

Except when people showed up and tossed sticks and rocks at him to wake him up. And he woke up on a shout because rocks hitting skin hurt normally but they stung like a bitch when he was asleep and everything snapped awake at full power. It took him a moment to remember to dial it back and he was able to see the two women at the door in the darkness like it was daylight.

By then Jim was off the top bunk and alert. He seemed to recognize the women but his stance didn't relax, he just crossed his arms. Stiles felt like an idiot for the unconscious yelp he had made and he scowled out at them for it.

"What?" He kept his voice quiet because it was late and he didn't want to deal with eavesdroppers joining in.

"We need to talk."

"And the daylight is a good place to do that," said Jim. Stiles didn't feel like arguing having an adult protector in jail against werewolves. He nodded his agreement.

"No. Now, Stiles," said Victoria Argent. She used the scary-voice. Stiles was momentarily grateful that Allison had never learned it. Still, he was behind an ash line. He shook his head.

"Nope. I wanna sleep," he said.

"I'm sure we can guarantee you don't catch a wink of beauty rest," Victoria said, smiling falsely as she let her voice raise just slightly. "You or the rest of the block. How popular do you want to be in the morning?"

Jim glared at the woman before looking to Stiles. He waved him off the bunk. "Out. Let's go."

Wandering around with pissed off werewolves at night was the last thing Stiles wanted to do. He shot Ellison a dirty look and grudgingly scooted off his bunk. He felt only marginally better when the sentinel followed him out. That disappeared when Victoria caught his arm, ever the sophisticate, demanding an escort. Control freak who now had teeth and claws.

"Awesome," muttered Stiles.

They went out into a dark night but Stiles had no trouble seeing. A sliver of the moon was out above the fog, and as far as Stiles could tell it was all lit up like daylight. He and Ellison moved with more confidence than the two wolves and Ellison was quick to point out the branch Victoria's friend nearly walked into. It wouldn't have hurt her but it would have been loud.

They were quiet until the trees in the middle of the yard, avoiding the handful of people still outside and mostly trying to sleep. It seemed like the trees belonged to the two women because that was the place Stiles always seemed to find them at. Now they were literally dragging him there, or frog-marching, anyway.

"Can I talk now?" Ellison asked. The women nodded.

"Yes, that's why you're out here," said Victoria. "We want you to talk. I want to know why Stiles is here and why he was handed to you. And why the lockdowns. I'm tired of those."

"And I'm curious as to your visitor this afternoon," said her friend.

"He was put in with me because he's here for the same reasons I'm here. I guess they figure freaks of a feather and all that," said Ellison. He let his annoyance with the midnight interrogation show. "So he can learn to keep himself out of a coma because of it."

"And that's why the lockdowns. The guy who came with me last time is trying to help me," said Stiles.

"You brought a werewolf here to help you?" Victoria asked. "You brought that one, to this place?"

"No, somebody else did-"

"Are you saying he's here somewhere now?"

"No, he left. He just visits," said Stiles. He frowned, not at all understanding why the two women even cared. "And if you're gonna try to tell me to send him home, you're totally wasting everyone's time because I already tried. Derek wants to help and I need his help so I'm not arguing anymore."

"Why?" asked the woman.

"Why what?" Stiles grouched at her. "And who are you anyway?"

Victoria Argent started grinning, smug and superior and somehow missing the fact that she was in werewolf jail just like he was. Stiles gave her a wary look but bit his tongue on his curiosity about her. She was supposed to be dead. And living happily in werewolf jail went exactly against the old Argent code. But the topic danced way too close to the subject of Allison Argent. Stiles was every kind of chicken but he didn't want to tell the woman a fox-demon had killed her daughter. Not when she had all the werewolf claws on her side.

When it became obvious there would be no answer to Stiles' question, Ellison spoke up. He waved a hand to the two women.

"Victoria and Talia. They manage the women. There's a pack of them here," said Ellison. He nodded to the small patch of woods around them.

"Tal-" Stiles went silent and bug-eyed as he stared. The dark haired woman arched an eyebrow at his expression, her lips quirking up into a grin.

"Yes, I want to know why you're dragging my son into this place," she said. Stiles started shaking his head. He was pretty certain between the two mothers he was going to be killed in his sleep. Now he knew why they dragged him to the trees, far away from his mountain ash stash.

"I didn't. I mean, not on purpose. Blair asked him and he showed up," he said.

"So you've said. But you've yet to say why," said Talia.

"That's complicated..."

"That's why we're out here, so you have time to explain," said Victoria.

"When I zone out, I can hear Derek. He keeps me out of this weird coma, so I kinda need him to help me figure this stuff out," Stiles said, rushing through it anyway. "Once I prove to the warden I'm not a wolf or a threat then I can go home."

Talia's brow furrowed. "Look around, Stiles. That won't happen. They don't let people leave."

The logic hadn't occurred to Stiles. It was the classic scenario of the freakshow who knew too much to leave. On the outside, he was a threat to the institution. Unless they labeled him permanently crazy and shoved him back in Eichen. Stiles shook his head. He couldn't accept that outcome.

"It'll work," he said. "I just have to prove..."

How exactly was he supposed to prove he wasn't a wolf or a fox-demon? All the evidence was already there. He wasn't healing, he couldn't shapeshift to save his life, and they knew better than he did what happened when he zoned out.

"Look. We're going to get the kid on his feet and work from there," said Ellison, dragging Stiles away from the mental horror stories. "That means lockdowns every day, and it means Derek shows up to keep him grounded while he learns. That's all there is to it. Stop psyching him out."

"I'm not, Ellison. I'm saying think about it, really think," said Talia. She unfolded her arms to wave a hand at Stiles. "He needs to learn control for himself, not to get out of this place. He won't. That's not how this place works."

"Unless he can fly, in which case he has a good chance," added Victoria. But nobody saw either sentinel or werewolf sprouting wings any time soon. Stiles looked to Jim.

"But I need Derek," he said, mentally stuck. Ellison tried to wave him off the idea.

"There's ways around it. We'll work on it. You just have to be careful," he said. Stiles nodded acceptance of the promise. He had been around Jim for nearly four days, with only a few hours breaks at a time, and so far the man hadn't lied to him. Stiles had been listening for it and it never happened. Victoria and Talia weren't lying either, but they had to be wrong.

"When they do lockdown to retrieve you, don't be there," said Talia. "Make Derek leave."

Stiles shook his head at the request. "I'm not going to start a fight. If I'm not there, they'll come looking for me. If he came all the way from California, the yard isn't going to bother him."

"I don't want him in here," Talia repeated. Stiles nodded quickly.

"Yeah, we're agreed there. But I can't do anything about it from here, either," he said.

"You don't show up for the lockdown," Talia said, as though he was missing the point. "You stay in the yard, out of sight, and your visitors go away."

"My visitors are here to help me, I actually need to talk to them," Stiles argued.

"No you don't. Ellison can teach you. So stop tolerating the visiting hours," said Victoria.

Life as a werewolf had done nothing to improve the woman's personality; Allison's mom was just as bossy as ever. Stiles glared at her for lack of any better option. They weren't listening to him so there was no point in talking. And he wasn't going to listen to them, either. Not until he talked to Derek and Blair. So Stiles didn't say anything at all; there was nothing to say. Victoria pursed her lips, her expression narrow eyed like she was reading him. Then she looked to Ellison.

"Go back, and tomorrow you tell them the visitors aren't allowed back. Stiles stays with us," she said. The teenager startled.

"Uh, _no_. Stiles goes back to his hole in the wall and Stiles can speak for himself," he said. Ellison nodded his agreement.

"It's not up to you who he talks to," he said. "And it's definitely not up to you if he stays in this place or leaves it. So don't go messing with his one shot out. He's just a kid."

"The warden told me I can leave if I can prove it," said Stiles. "So I'm going to try."

"Not this way you're not. You prove it on your own. You don't involve my son," said Talia.

"You're dead, what do you care?" Stiles snapped back. Talia's expression hardened.

"I want to stay dead, that's why I care," she said. "I don't want my children here."

"I don't want to be here either! This isn't a trade," Stiles said. He shook his head and started backing off, toward Ellison and the way back out of the yard. He was provoking werewolves, outright arguing with them in the tree grove. It was their territory, obviously, and he was asking for trouble just standing there. He was unarmed and injured and amped up, which meant everything was loud and bright, even in the dark. It was also cold and damp and humid and that ate away at Stiles' mood further. He had to calm down so he set his jaw and tried to focus. "I won't tell him you're here. But I'm going to get home."

"Not by involving Derek," said Talia. Stiles frowned at her; it wasn't like they didn't agree with that goal, but she wasn't getting it. And Stiles didn't know how to explain so he didn't try. He would later, when he had done his homework and could control his senses better. When it worked, he would make sure to prove it. For now, he just wanted to sleep.

Stiles' effort at retreat was met by moving shadows splitting from trees. Ellison had said there was a pack and he wasn't wrong. They weren't all women but they were all wolves. He could see the claws and teeth clear as day. It only made sense that Victoria would cheat. Stiles had kind of hoped for better from Derek's mom, but it made sense; Derek cheated, even pulled the same trick, and he had to have picked it up from somewhere. So Stiles stared at three werewolves immediately in his path and at least that many more at other places around the clearing within pouncing distance.

Somebody chirped, the small yip-sound that actual wolves use to communicate, and it caught Stiles' attention. He looked over at Victoria, thinking she had made it, and saw her focus on one of the emerging pack members. The woman didn't have claws out, she held her hands relaxed and framed like they held a beach ball but they were empty. The oddity was disturbing and he didn't argue when Ellison swore under his breath and caught his arm to make him keep moving. Like the woman with her non-wolf hands was worse than the wall of wolves in front of them. Then he saw that she was.

The space between the woman's hands lit up in bright white light, like a fire in glass. It amplified until it stabbed at Stiles' sensitive eyes and their fully engaged night-vision. He heard Ellison swear at Victoria and felt the man stumble into him and then blackness and silence. At least it wasn't a white out this time; Blair said those were worse than the blackouts.


	11. Chapter 11

The radio call said that Stiles was gone. Blair looked at Derek in confusion.

"He knew we would be back today. Why would he skip out on the lockout?" Blair asked. Derek knew how the kid worked better than he did. But Derek shook his head.

"He was fine yesterday. There's something wrong," said Derek.

"Maybe he just got caught up reading outside. I mean, that was a huge book-" Derek interrupted Blair's logic.

"He reads. The book wasn't that huge," he said. All the same, Derek moved over to the window and started scanning the yard for signs of Stiles. Blair went back to the guard who had reported Stiles missing to ask if anyone could look for him.

"Apparently the roommate said he wasn't going to show so you might as well sign out," said the guard.

"What?" Blair was surprised and accidentally got loud. He tried again. "No way. I'm not leaving unless the kid tells me to, himself, personally. I'm not here to listen to the roommate."

That was a lie but it was on the books so nobody but the werewolf would know the truth. Derek crossed the room then, shrugging out of his jacket. "Let me go look for him then. He'll talk to me and if he really wants us to go, fine."

The guard wanted to argue but Blair killed it by demanding to talk to the warden. And then Miranda tried to tell him _no_. That didn't go over so well.

"You've got an injured, eighteen year old kid missing in a crowd of werewolves. You're telling me that doesn't concern you? Just a little?" he asked. It made him mad, even if he did know how much of Miranda's job meant looking the other way.

"I'm concerned, but not enough to justify risking Mr. Hale to look for him," she said.

"As opposed to waiting for a body to just show up?" Derek's challenge was borderline angry and Blair saw the man's green eyes flash blue. He kept his swearing to himself and looked to Miranda. She had seen the threat and crossed her arms. Derek wasn't supposed to tip their hand like that. There was no way to know how Miranda would react now; Derek wasn't just a carrier of his family's genetics and she knew they lied to her.

"Now I have _every_ reason to investigate," the warden told Blair.

"I'm trying to help the kid, so maybe I didn't vett Derek as well as I could have. He can help the kid. I need his help to help Stiles," Blair said quickly.

"Let me go make sure he's okay and then I'll leave," said Derek. "I don't need a guard. Just let me loose down there and I'll be back in a half hour. Either with Stiles or with what's left of him."

The visual description made Blair balk. "He's not dead..."

"He's not safe if he's not where he said he would be," said Derek. "If he didn't want us helping he would argue to our faces, not pass a message along the grapevine. This isn't how Stiles works."

Miranda narrowed her eyes. "Fine. A half hour. But don't miss the lockdown because I am not sending someone in for you."

Derek didn't look like someone who cared about being rescued. He waved toward the door for Miranda to lead the way. She obliged but turned back, a hand to Blair's chest to make him wait.

"You stay here. And don't even screw with me on this, Blair. You and I are going to sit down and have a chat."

Blair looked back at her, scandalized and innocent. But, in the interests of not getting in the way of Derek checking on Stiles, he didn't argue. He moved back away from the door to the big chair on the guest side of Miranda's desk. She made sure he sat before she turned to guide Derek out to the guards who would take him downstairs. Blair gnawed at a fingernail nervously as the door closed. Stiles had been right; he shouldn't have let Derek help with this project. Not in person. They were screwed. So close to getting everything to go right and one tiny thing... That pretty much summed up Blair's life of the last two years anyway. Three steps forward and one stumble knocks him flat on his ass. But now it wasn't just him anymore.

"Damnit."

 

***

 

"-nearly twelve hours. He wasn't lying about the coma."

The voice broke through the dark and Stiles started to realize he had blacked out in the first place. The more the voice spoke, the more he had something to help him hang on to consciousness. He gradually pulled himself out enough that the black faded away and he saw colors and shapes. He looked around and saw he was in a cell but it wasn't his. His pillow was under his head, though, and Blair's book sat next to him on the cot.

It was very dark in this section of cells and the air tasted damp and... Gross. Stiles sat up, careful of noise as he tried to focus on blocking out the sensory input from senses literally on overdrive. The woman's voice - Talia Hale's - crept in and out of his hearing range. Other sounds kept interfering. Someone was crying, someone was painting on walls or something, just a wet, slick crawling sound, and he heard a drill running. The hum of computers was somewhere between Stiles and those noises. Talia was closer than that but she was pacing or walking toward him, he couldn't quite tell.

The darkened cell was closed. On second glance, Stiles saw that the cell door had been taken off its track and was on the wrong side of the gate, wedged inside the bars instead of on the hall side. It was held in place by... Handcuffs. Three pairs were attached to the bars and looped around the broken gate, giving only a few inches room to move the door aside and nowhere near enough for Stiles to crawl through.

Pure frustration escaped and Stiles grabbed the nearest thing at hand and chucked it at the door with a shout of annoyance. The book hit the bars and clanged loudly - that hurt Stiles' ears all the way to his teeth - and flopped through to spin out into the hall. He was still rubbing his poor abused ears when Talia showed up at the gate. She stared down at the book and then picked it up. She leaned on the bars and flipped through the copy of Blair's dissertation to be sure it wasn't damaged.

"At least you're awake. I was beginning to worry," she said.

"I _told_ you," he replied. "That's why I need Derek. That doesn't happen when he's around."

"You didn't tell me why," said Talia.

Stiles slumped back against the wall beside the bunk he sat on. The werewolves already knew how to knock him out, could trigger a surprise sensory overload with their firestarter so there was no sense trying to hide the basics as he knew them. "Because sentinels have guides to help keep them focused. He's like my baseline, he's not going to change. Everything else goes up and down, the stuff I hear and see and stuff changes. He doesn't."

Talia stared at him, surprised. If she was expecting to catch a lie, she was definitely not going to know what to make of Stiles' story.

"Sentinels?" she asked.

"Yeah, you werewolf, me sentinel. It's not that weird, really." Stiles pointed at the book in her hand. "That tells you. It just means I'm really good at hearing and seeing and smelling things. Normal human, no supernatural tendencies. I'm not gonna murder anyone. I'm just going to black-out when there's too much noise. Derek keeps the noise down."

"The problem is, you're wrong," said Talia. "You're not like Ellison. Maybe there's this sentinel trait... But it's not that simple."

"Yes it is," said Stiles. Everything Jim and Blair had taught him already worked. "I just need to practice control better. I forget, it slips away and surprises me."

Talia shook her head. "You are your mother's son. It is not that simple."

It was Stiles' turn to be surprised. How did Talia Hale know anything about his mom? The sound of the drill somewhere further off their wing started up again and Stiles shoved his hands over his ears, wincing and trying to turn down the volume. A moment later, the klaxons went off in another wing to announce a lockdown. It added to the noise and Stiles curled over his knees trying to focus on turning it all down.

"Just think about something closer to you, Stiles," Talia said calmly. "Listen to yourself. Find your own heartbeat. Listen to that."

Stiles used her voice as a buffer between himself and the harsh sounds distracting him. He knew what a heartbeat sounded like and managed to find the one that matched his own breathing. She was right; it helped. He got the dial trick to work and aimed to turn it really low. Footsteps interrupted him and he looked up to see Victoria show up. She didn't look very happy.

"Ellison's wing just went into lockdown again," she said.

"That's not surprising," said Talia. "They're hoping Stiles will show up and be checking in. They'll stop."

"Derek came down to talk to him," Victoria said. Talia heaved a sigh. Stiles tried not to look too smug and resisted the urge to try listening for Derek. There was a rattle of metal and then the book was tossed in at him again.

"Stay here and stay quiet," Talia told him. Then she and Victoria left. Stiles sat and listened until all signs of them disappeared completely. He picked up the book and flipped through it, trying for distraction.

It outlined a few field tests, examples of things Jim had done that Blair explained with scientific detachment were proof of sentinel traits. They were well within the range of human possibility, in the same way a normal human parent could display extraordinary instinct in the protection of their child. But for the sentinel, the instinct was always there, it didn't need specific danger to be triggered. It just needed trained to be an asset instead of a danger to the sentinel. Normal humans learned to sit up and crawl before they learned to stand up and run. A sentinel had to learn to identify the individual pieces of information their senses would feed them before they could learn what to do with it.

The book said in plain and simple language that Jim was normal and human. So it didn't make sense that Blair's study on sentinel traits could be used against Jim or Stiles, either one, in order to keep them there. Stiles put the book down and scowled at the wall across from the gated entrance to the cell.

He realized it was dark in the room, something he had noticed before but not really thought about until he realized he had just been reading in the dark. Ellison's wing had high windows over the second level of cells. It was always light there. Here in this wing, there were no windows. It almost felt like he was underground. The hall outside the room had no lights in it. The light he did have came from down the hall where Talia had disappeared to. It was soft like filtered sunlight and hardly there around him but he could see it.

It would be really easy for the wolves to send him back into a zone out by keeping him in the dark. He was just primed for it, all of his senses trying to accommodate for the blackness. Stiles didn't trust them and started trying to dial everything down. He would rather be blind because of no night-vision than in pain because someone turned the night-vision against him. As sight and hearing went down, though, smell and touch went up. He couldn't get them to balance out.

The underground level smelled like blood and mold. Stiles decided he hated his sense of smell worst of all. He wanted to puke. His fingers picked up the individual fibers in the book cover, a paperback, and he got lost on it for a minute, comparing it to velvet. Then the crying sound he had heard earlier turned into a howl and startled Stiles back to the present. It was faint but it was real, somewhere close to the basement level he was trapped in.

He didn't like it. It sounded like a ghost, or like someone dying, and Stiles didn't want to be down there by himself anymore. He scooted off the bunk and moved to the gate, tugging at it. It clanked and rattled but it was anchored in three spots by the handcuff chains - up above and one on each side - and he couldn't drag it down. Stiles pulled on a handcuff directly and tested the chain. It wasn't going to give.

Frustrated, he started rattling it and the gate, careful to stay away from it in case he was wrong about how sturdy the chains were. The noise was loud, but it drowned out the howling from somewhere further away in the huge complex. It echoed around the basement level room and the sound amplified.

Stiles felt something like a spark stab at his left hand where it grasped the cuff and he yelped, his efforts at making attention-getting noise in a bid for freedom forgotten as he tugged his hand away to see what had happened. He thought he had just pinched his palm in the metal but there was no mark there. When he reached for the cuff again, the metal loop slid open like it had been keyed and unlocked.

"What the hell..." That wasn't a good sign. Stiles let the cuff drop away from the gate and he pulled on the metal bars instead. The cuffs on the other two sides still held but Stiles was able to swing it open. He had no explanation for how it happened but he wasn't going to look that particular gift horse in the mouth. Stiles went back for his pillow and Blair's book and then snuck carefully between the gate and the bars. He didn't know where he was and just followed the signs of daylight. Talia was going to be pissed off so Stiles' main concern was not being noticed until he was out in the yard, away from the dark that was so easy to attack from.


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles made it to familiar territory by following a stairwell that had at one time had a door on it. It had been torn off and sat shredded and bent off to one side. The door at the top of the stairs was unlocked and went out on another cell block like the one he already knew, with daylight from high windows. And that block opened into the big cafeteria that went out to the yard. The opposite end of the cafeteria was the entrance to the other cell block and he headed straight for it. He picked up followers but nobody hassled him.

The lockdown was long over and the hall was empty on both levels. Nobody was in Ellison's cell. Stiles tossed his pillow and book on his bunk and waited behind the safety of the ash line. Derek would come back for him again and he just had to keep out of Talia and Victoria's reach until then. Then he could tell Blair and Derek what happened without mentioning Talia _or_ lying because _holy shit_ the situation was bizarre enough. On second thought, he was thoroughly screwed because Derek always knew when he lied. So did his dad, which meant Stiles was just a terrible liar...

A noise outside got loud. Like a fight. Stiles looked around and realized Ellison wasn't there. He remembered all the comments about "the women" not liking him and they obviously didn't trust him around Stiles. What kind of trouble did he start for Ellison by sneaking out of the hole Victoria and Talia had tried to bury him in?

Paranoia gnawed at him until Stiles gave in and left the safety of his ash-guarded cell to go investigate the fight. The people from Talia's pack had followed him to his cell and then disappeared so the path was clear. The yard was quiet except for the fight and werewolf growling was permanently etched in his brain so Stiles ended up at a full tilt sliding-on-linoleum run once that started up. Ellison wasn't a wolf. Sentinels fighting claws could not be a good thing. Victoria Argent was totally capable of killing even _without_ claws.

Stiles skittered out of the cafeteria into the bright yard wincing and squinting to see past the sunlight. He tracked the sound of the fight to the crowd near the trees in the center of the huge yard. Men and women stood around to watch the afternoon's entertainment, Stiles easily hearing bets being made and guesses about what "the new guy" did to start it up with the tank's sharks already. That made no damn sense at all to Stiles and he decided he didn't want to know. He just shoved past people to find the fight. At the same time he realized he recognized a scent in the crowd. And then he saw the fighters and realized Talia and Victoria weren't behind the attack this time.

It was Derek. Ellison was his back-up. And the bad-guys were just some random thugs Stiles had seen at lunch a few times but never thought much about. Apparently they didn't like Derek and Ellison causing the lockdowns. And Derek didn't like being shoved around and kept from whatever he was looking for, which in this case was Stiles, and a fight happened. _Naturally_. Because that was _useful_.

Stiles held back and waited to be noticed rather than give the big werewolves any advantage by distracting Derek and Ellison. He paced, trying to put himself in their line of sight. Stiles tripped on a basketball and stumbled briefly. He started to swear at it and then picked the ball up instead. Taking aim, he launched the ball into the fight, hitting the werewolf squaring off with Ellison. The man lost his balance and went down hard, Ellison dodging out of the way and letting the werewolf hit the grass. That was sufficient distraction to all four fighters and Derek finally noticed Stiles on the sidelines.

Unfortunately, so did the werewolf who had just been owned by a basketball to the face.

Stiles ducked behind the nearest innocent bystander and tried to put as many people between himself and the two werewolves chasing him as he could. Worst case scenario was that he started a riot. Best case scenario was he kept running back to the ash line barrier and hid until the lockdown that would let Derek back out. Maybe if he was really nice, the warden would put him in solitary confinement after this. He certainly hadn't made any friends on the cell block.

Someone reached out of the crowd and caught Stiles by the shoulders, spinning him off the path he was weaving between gawkers and into a tight knot of people, out of sight. He was penned in pretty effectively though. It wasn't all that awesome a save because he recognized Victoria Argent's scent. She wouldn't have helped Stiles out of the kindness of her heart. All the same, Stiles stayed where he was put because he had this stupid instinct to trust anything Hale pack. Victoria and the pack effectively stopped the fight with the power of the woman's glare alone. Six pack members literally backing her play didn't hurt, either.

"Go away," she told the two fighters. Stiles tried to be shorter than her and out of sight even though a couple of werewolves on their game would still know he was there. It seemed to work and the pair didn't put up much of an argument, at least not one intelligent enough for Victoria to bother with. She cowed two full grown men with an arched eyebrow and crossed arms and they left the yard with their proverbial tails tucked.

Stiles muttered a quick "Thank you" and then tried to shove his way past her pack to get to Derek. Victoria caught him by the back of the neck like an errant pup and steered him toward the cafeteria. This was not going to go well, Stiles could tell that much already.

He looked back over his shoulder and saw Ellison trying to run interference between Derek and stragglers from the Hale pack.

"-this black eye? It didn't come from our brawl buddies. He's okay, so you can leave-" Ellison tried. Derek seemed too focused on - startled by, even - Victoria Argent impolitely hauling Stiles off the yard.

It was stupid. Werewolves in general were stupid, Stiles decided, which meant he was worse than stupid for always going along with their stupid. He dug his heels into the mud - _he was in serious need of a shower anyway_ \- and shoved back against Victoria's efforts. He ducked down and out of her easy reach and spun around while she was distracted by the first unexpected resistance. He slipped between two surprised members of the pack like he was on a breakaway in lacrosse and bolted for Derek. There was strength in numbers and no member of Talia's pack would hurt her kid.

Derek caught him by the arms and held him up. He smelled like adrenaline and sweat and blood and heat and Stiles was suddenly questioning every decision he had made in the last twenty-four hours. He was out of breath from the excitement as it was and he rolled his shoulders to get away from the touch, just for the sake of his sanity. He was too amped up and would probably do something stupid, right there in front of everyone, and that wasn't a good plan. _No_ , definitely not. Talia already wanted to kill him as it was.

" _Hi can we go now please tell me Blair didn't leave you here and we can leave leaving is good-_ " Stiles rushed out. Basically content to ignore the ramble, Derek looked him over, worried. He kept half his attention on the oddity of seeing Victoria the _un-dead_ Argent watching them. He saw scratches on Stiles' neck from his escape of the woman's claws and actually checked that they were just scratches. _Touching_ kept happening and Stiles wasn't sure he could handle it.

"Are you okay?" Derek asked, because he was suddenly the world's biggest jerk intent on Stiles' personal destruction. Stiles shook his head because, _no_ , it was _not okay_ how badly he wanted a hug and for reasons that had nothing to do with the werewolves trying to kill him, and everything to do with Derek's hand on his shoulder. The sense of touch was a definite _thing_ now and Derek had Stiles' triggered.

"Need to talk to Blair," he managed. Derek nodded, moved impossibly closer and started them back toward the cafeteria. Ellison followed. Stiles picked up on relief from him and worry from Derek. But he still wasn't certain that was what _worry_ smelled like.

 

***

 

They left Ellison tucked safely behind the ash line in the cell and waited outside the door to freedom only a few minutes before Derek's half-hour was up. Stiles stayed quiet, ignored Derek's suspicious looks in favor of not inviting the ire of Talia Hale or Victoria Argent. He shoved himself into a corner and kept Derek angled between himself and the rest of the block without a hint of shame for it. It earned him the warning face from Derek that promised he would be forced to explain later but Derek otherwise didn't argue being used as a human shield. The lockdown couldn't have come fast enough and Stiles actually caught Derek by the hand and dragged him out when the door finally unlocked.

Then they were escorted to the elevator and, in the relative safety of the small space, Stiles pounced. One second Derek was minding his own business, scowling at the elevator doors, and the next Stiles had invaded his space to collect the hug he had gotten only twice before in his life but was apparently addicted to now.

"Are you talking yet?" Derek asked. Stiles shook his head, tucked his face between his arm and Derek's neck. It was probably creepy but Derek didn't say anything. He just hung on to Stiles and let him hide. For Stiles it meant that everything went normal. The sounds were normal, the light in the elevator was dimmed to normal, Derek was the only person Stiles could smell, and they were just going to never have to speak about the hugging thing in public because of reasons.

Derek pried him loose when the elevator doors opened and marched Stiles out on to the warden's floor. He kept both hands on Stiles' shoulders and Stiles focused on that; the dial-scheme had him turning touch down really low and balancing out all the others at about average to accommodate. Stiles was still a chaotic mess but he was starting to figure it out. It wasn't exactly like a radio dial because the senses were supposed to play back-up positions to each other; if someone loses their sight then their hearing becomes stronger, a natural fail-safe to keep the body defensible. Muting everything was even more unnatural for Stiles and added to the chaos, left him mentally scrabbling to fix all the dials as his body adjusted to instinct and ruined the temporary calm required to get the dials to work.

It was a lot easier to be calm with Derek being calm beside him. It was a little weird that he used a sour faced, angry werewolf for his zen but Stiles was Stiles so if anything made sense, it was that.

The second he saw the warden, Stiles started talking.

"I'm here for evaluation, right? Still a potentially temporary arrangement?"

"Theoretically, yes. I'm still trying to sort out what to do with this situation with Derek," said the warden.

"What situation?" Stiles asked. He waved at the window. "He was attacked! He had to defend himself!"

It was a huge assumption since Stiles hadn't been there at the start but he felt pretty confident it was how things went down. Warden Thompson looked Derek over, saw the slowly healing cut on his face from the fight and then glowered over at Blair. Blair just set his face in his hand like a guilty man. Stiles looked from face to face.

"Something happened," Stiles realized. "What happened?"

"You missed your appointment time," said the warden.

"Yeah, because somebody locked me in another wing and didn't want me to leave," said Stiles. "So if I'm really just here for an eval, can you put me in solitary confinement or something now? I don't have claws and there's an entire pack down there that thinks I'm their pet or something..."

"Oh crap," said Blair. He looked to Miranda. "See! I told you he can't be there!"

Miranda looked from Stiles to Derek, not sold on the story. "Is that what the fight was about?"

"No," Derek said. "The fight was because I caused the latest lockdown and Bruno and Fritz down there are tired of the noise. Their solution was to get rid of me."

Bug-eyed at the implications, Blair started shaking his head. "You can't send Stiles back down there to that."

"The pack that took Stiles from his cell beat up his roommate to do it. So neither of them are safe now," Derek went on.

"What did you do to the pack?" Miranda asked, frowning.

Stiles shook his head in a clear and firm negative. "Nothing. They know me from home. Knew my parents. So they don't think I should be here and they don't think I should be talking to Blair and they don't want me around Derek. _And_ they don't like the lockdowns."

"You are quite adept at causing a disturbance, Stiles," Miranda said. Stiles balked, somehow offended.

"I didn't ask to be here," he reminded her.

"You're a mess," she said. Stiles looked down at his mud-dried, grass-stained clothes and ran a self-conscious hand through his greasy hair. Yeah, _mess_ was the polite way to put it. He wasn't going to argue that. Miranda continued anyway.

"You're a disturbance. A flight risk. Apparently popular with all the wrong people," she said. She paused as she considered him. "But you're still not healing. You're collecting more injuries and don't seem to be inflicting any."

Stiles kept quiet about launching a basketball into a werewolf's face fifteen minutes earlier. Miranda looked to Blair.

"You are positive about this sentinel thing?" she asked.

"Absolutely positive. There is nothing harmful in heightened senses. At least, not harmful to anyone else other than the sentinel," said Blair. "You saw him. It causes those frozen zone-outs, not rampages. The instinct that brings the sentinel senses online is to protect, not to hurt."

"Then what about the incident at the hospital," asked Miranda. Stiles started to protest and then shut his mouth. It was a trap. There was still no way he could defend himself and sound sane. He crossed his arms and tried to be zen. Blair, on the other hand, started digging in his backpack.

"I looked in to that-"

"Oh, so you vetted the incarcerated one," said Miranda. Blair shrugged and rolled his eyes. He pulled an iPad from his pack and spent a moment flicking through screens. Then he stopped and handed the pad to Miranda.

"The sheriff sent me the screen captures from the hospital security feed. And the reports on the injuries people sustained. The injuries are all consistent with large knife wounds, like a sword or katana? But in the video, the person walking the halls doesn't have a weapon. At all," he said. Miranda nodded like this was all information she already had.

"Yes, that's why Stiles is here. He displayed telekinesis that left people injured and dead. It's not the first time we've seen something like this," she said.

"But he didn't. What you're looking at here is a shapeshifter but not a werewolf," said Blair. He took the pad back and found another image, then handed it back. "What you probably didn't hear about was that Agent McCall was attacked by this shapeshifter himself. According to his own report, it attacked him with a katana and then actually disappeared. That is the official artist rendering of the man that stabbed him."

It was a ninja in a face mask, the drawing complete with menacing expression and swords. Miranda blinked at the cartoon-like rendering.

"Now if you're a trained FBI agent and you're attacked by a ninja shapeshifter with the ability to go invisible, and you have the option to blame the invisible ninja or blame the kid who got his face stolen by a shapeshifter and is having weird black-out episodes? Which do you think an agent would look into first?"

Stiles felt a wave of anger but he tramped it down. He could definitely smell it on Derek though. And Miranda.

"You realize the position you've put me in here, Blair?" Miranda asked. "You lied and brought a werewolf in as a consultant. Now you're presenting me with anecdotal evidence in support of your own theories. Which means you could be lying."

"I got it from the sheriff's department, Miranda. It's all even a matter of public record at this point. It's not a huge leap of logic to put the pieces together," said Blair. He quieted, speaking more carefully on a sensitive subject. "If you had really been interested in doing an eval on Stiles, you would have found this yourself."

That danced really close to the horror story Talia had tried to sell him on and Stiles did not appreciate it being validated. He really didn't like Blair challenging the woman with it, either. What if it backfired? Stiles kept quiet because he knew it would backfire on him if he so much as breathed wrong. The quiet threatened so Blair kept talking.

"Now I'm not saying you were played for the sake of Agent McCall's image but... I am at least saying he was wrong. There's nothing dangerous about Stiles."

Miranda looked over the images on the screen, weighing something over in her head. She didn't look happy in the moral dilemma.

"This isn't enough to keep him here," she said finally.

"No shit," said Stiles. He thought better of the editorial commentary when Miranda looked up at him, her expression disapproving. Derek set a hand to his back in silent support, because silent was obviously the smarter way to handle the warden.

"I told you it was an evaluation," Warden Thompson said, looking to Stiles directly. "And that I wanted proof you weren't a threat. Your initial response to the evaluation was noncooperation. You refused to stay where you were put, you argued. I had to bring in an expert to get past that."

"You didn't listen to me so..." Derek lifted a hand and held it over Stiles' mouth to make him shut up before he got himself locked up for good. Stiles appreciated the effort and went quiet again.

"The point is, you have put yourself in dangerous situations and yet not proven to be dangerous, not even in your own defense," said Miranda, tolerant no matter how annoyed. "Paired with Blair's work to explain the blackouts and strange behaviors otherwise, the evaluation would seem to conclude that the sentinel senses are the problem. Nothing more than that."

"And I proved with my work with Jim Ellison years ago that the sentinel instinct is to protect, not destroy," Blair said. Everyone in the room knew what he was doing mentioning Jim after the warden's conclusion. He wanted his friend back. Jim didn't belong there any more than Stiles did. Miranda frowned and handed the iPad back to Blair.

"I'll send someone down to get Stiles' things," she said. "I don't need any more disruptions in my cell block. No more fighting. Get the boy out."

Stiles thought he was going to fall over from relief. Derek caught his shoulder and squeezed and Stiles just leaned on him. He wanted to go home.


	13. Chapter 13

The conscience is a terrible thing. Once an idea hits the conscience as offensive, it stews and sits and pricks at the mind. It wins out over logic - _logic_ , like for instance, _don't argue with the warden's orders_ \- by steady, insidious assault.

Which was how Stiles found himself wheedling a guard to let him go get his own things rather than wait in the lobby. The warden didn't want him causing more trouble in the cell block. But Stiles didn't want to leave without telling Jim where he was actually going. The guy didn't need the horror stories he would probably hear, and who knew what Talia and Victoria would do with the news of his disappearance.

The thing was, neither Derek or Blair stopped him from arguing with the guard in the elevator on the way to the lobby. He wanted to get his own stuff, the place was going to be in lockdown anyway, what difference did it make?

The guard let him go just to shut him up. Derek wasn't quite that easily shrugged off though so he went along with Stiles to retrieve the book and pillow. Guide and guard dog; this sentinel thing was weird. Ellison was still safely behind the mountain ash boundary and the barred gate.

"What's _he_ doing back out here?" Ellison asked, somewhere between annoyed and resigned as he nodded toward Derek.

"Babysitting," said Stiles, rolling his eyes. "I'm out of here. I just wanted to get my stuff."

"You're out?" The man was relieved but no less surprised. Stiles bobbed his head a little, still wary of believing it himself.

"Yeah. Sentinel stuff isn't werewolf stuff so she can't keep me here. Evaluation _done_ ," he said. "And I wanted to make sure you got the full story. The rumor mill will have fun with it."

Jim looked him over, not quite happy but at least relieved. "I get to go back to my nice quiet life here. Eventually, anyway."

Stiles knew what he meant but he didn't really like the truth of it. "Blair's not going to walk away from it now, and the warden knows it. I kinda feel like the consolation prize."

"That's because you're a bigger pain in the ass than you're worth," said Derek dryly, to which Stiles just huffed his agreement.

"It'll be fine here once the lockdowns stop again. Boring, but fine," said Ellison. He stepped away from the bars then to retrieve what Stiles had brought with him into Ellison's space. The pillow and book were shoved through the bars a moment later. Stiles hugged the pillow with his casted arm. Jim shook his head. "You definitely don't belong here, kid. Get out while they're still holding the door for you."

Stiles nodded. "Thank you," he said. "For all the help and not being a jerk. And stuff."

"You'll figure it out. Tell Blair that Mr. Hale has my go-ahead to kick his ass if he doesn't get you going out there." Jim almost seemed amused for a moment but then he glanced down the long hall, toward the gate out to the cafeteria. The half a grin disappeared as his attention skimmed back to Stiles and Derek. "Anyway, time to get back to your life, chief. Go on, out."

The change was noticed and Stiles shot a furtive glance down the hall himself, trying not to draw attention but curious all the same. _Crap_ , he thought as he realized they were being watched by Victoria and Talia both beyond the closed gate out of the block. Stiles looked back to Jim. "Be careful, okay? You can still sprout claws."

"Can't, actually. They already tried that one. I don't recommend trying it," Jim replied. Stiles frowned, nodded. He held out his hand, not able to shake yet but Jim seemed like he could handle the fist-bump equivalent. The man almost grinned again as he complied. "Get your guide-wolf there outta here before they keep him. It's easier with one than without."

Stiles nodded and shoved his shoulder in to Derek's. He wasn't expecting the man to miss the hint and resist so he was surprised to find Derek staring past him down toward the locked gate. Stiles didn't have to look to know what Derek saw.

"Come on, man. We gotta go."

Derek looked at Stiles, somewhere between hurt and angry and Stiles almost panicked. He just shook his head and shoved at Derek with the book in his good hand. " _We gotta go._ "

Derek complied but only under duress. Stiles would be lucky if he got the man to the car without a fight now.

 

***

 

So Stiles was wrong about the car, for multiple reasons. First, Derek didn't say another word to him as they left. He kept a hand on his shoulder and kept up a good sidelong glare. Even Blair noticed and stayed quiet.

Second, Blair didn't have a car. That surprised Stiles because for some reason he was expecting Blair to drive a mom-car like Derek did. Instead, it was an old blue and white Ford stick-shift with a bench seat. Blair shrugged it off and explained everything: "It's Jim's." That made sense, and managed to make Stiles feel like a steaming pile of everything wrong with the world, all in one fell swoop.

So he didn't argue when Derek silently nominated him and his pillow for the middle of the bench. Blair dropped his box of stinky sentinel-training-stuff and backpack in the truck bed behind the cab and climbed behind the wheel. He glanced from Stiles to Derek and back, like he was expecting an explosion.

"Everybody okay?" he asked. "It's a long drive back to the city..."

Stiles looked over at Derek for the cue, since he was the werewolf in the cab emanating anger in almost visible simmering waves.

"Fine," said Derek, terse and lying. Stiles heard it. Hell, he felt it, scrunched in the middle against Derek's shoulder. The only problem was, he didn't know what to say. He couldn't exactly fix what was wrong. And Derek had to know it wasn't Stiles' fault. If for no other reason than Stiles was about eleven years old when the fire happened; there was no possible way Stiles could have known Derek's mom was still alive in werewolf jail. And he really didn't think Derek wanted to hear about how she locked him up in a dank, forgotten, burned out wing trying to keep him from blabbing to Derek in the first place.

The other problem was that Stiles reeked of days without a shower and his arm hurt from all the messing around he had done that morning. He was crankier than he was relieved thanks to the quiet in the truck cab, and Blair was paranoid. Stiles could smell the anxiety on him and it was weird that Stiles was learning to differentiate. He could pick up emotionally charged scents over regular sweat and mud and whatever the stench was of whatever had died in the sub-wing he had spent the night in.

"Can we just not do this right now?" Stiles declared into the quiet. He looked from Derek to Blair and back. "Just please?"

"Do what?" Blair asked.

"The thing where you're over there afraid of the pissed off werewolf and the pissed off werewolf is just pissed off in the first place," said Stiles. He looked over at Derek. "I didn't know who she was or I would have told you. She was gonna freakin' kill me if I did but since when does that shut me up?"

Derek set his jaw and looked out the window. Blair tried to split his attention between driving and Stiles' stilted effort at cutting out the tension. It wasn't exactly a surgically precise operation and Stiles figured he was killing the patient either way.

"Who she?" Blair asked.

"His mom," said Stiles. "And also, incidentally, Allison's mom. So between the two of them I was gonna be dead. And now I'm not. That's an upside, right?"

Derek glanced over at him at that. Stiles couldn't even begin to read the expression. "Right?" he asked, mentally flailing.

"I'm thinking about it," Derek said finally. Biting his tongue on a snarky return about the slow-ass processing speed, Stiles just elbowed him for it. Derek shifted enough to sling an arm over Stiles' shoulder and tug him close to limit the roughhousing next to the confused driver. Just like before, the noises quieted and the filtered sunlight in the cab softened and Stiles happily felt the touch. His mind focused and then a second later shocked him with the profound new levels of stupidity it could reach.

"We could get her out," he said. "Her and Jim. And Allison's mom if she promises not to kill me."

Derek held a hand over his mouth to shut him up. Stiles did, but he stewed on the crazy thought for the rest of the drive.

 

***

 

On the drive into the city, Stiles got actual sleep again. He was crammed into Derek's space and his senses were all behaving like normal. The old truck was loud because it was older than his jeep and bigger. Stiles had no explanation for it other than Derek made it quiet. It was weird hearing people's heartbeats but Stiles had gotten used to it the past few days and he fell asleep listening to Derek's and trying to figure out how to break into a prison supernaturally fortified.

When the truck hit the start and stop of city traffic, he woke up. So did his sense of smell and hearing and everything else at once, and for a moment everything was noise and chaos. He shoved into the back of the bench and tensed until he could fight back with the dial trick. Only when he had everything balanced out did he look around them. It was a busy city. Tall buildings, dirty streets, and oh so many coffee shops.

"Coffee..." he began. Blair shook his head.

"That is so the last thing you need right now," he said. Stiles scrunched his nose and caught an accidental whiff.

"Yeah. You're right. Shower first. Then coffee after," he said. Derek huffed but didn't say anything. Stiles self-consciously tried to keep his own space.

"I was thinking more that you don't need to be _hyper_ when calling your dad and setting up a plane ride home," said Blair. "But the shower's not a bad idea."

"It's a _beautiful_ idea," Stiles replied. "But I'm not calling my dad yet."

"What? Why?"

"Because if it's only temporary then there's no point getting his hopes up," said Stiles. And he was much better at being forgiven than he was at asking permission.

"It's not temporary. Miranda meant what she said back there. She doesn't have enough proof that you're dangerous," said Blair. Stiles felt Derek glaring holes in the back of his head and carefully looked to the werewolf.

"I mean it. I think we can get them out. We don't go home until we try," he said.

"Are you _crazy_?" Blair said it out loud, _quite_ loud, as they sat at a red light. "The others are all well past their seventy-two hour observation status. We can't exactly change their diagnosis."

"No but we can get them out," said Stiles. "It's not like they do roll-call."

Blair laughed and shook his head. "Kid, you are crazy. You're on overload and-"

"Jim said they tried giving him the bite and it _didn't take_ ," Stiles argued. "Okay? They tried to _make_ him _and_ his senses into a _werewolf_. Because that's something they understand, right? But he's not. So he's _not safe_ there. Especially after me and the lockdowns."

Blair's tone changed to worry but he still thought Stiles was crazy. Derek drew his attention back.

"We can't break into a _prison_ , Stiles," he said. "And even if we did? They would know where to look to collect everyone again. This time including us."

"So we get help..."

"Look, I appreciate the thought, okay? I want Jim back, or at the very least out of that whole system. But it's... It's just _huge_. It can't _work_."

"It can."

"Drop it," said Derek. "We can stay up here if you want and Blair can show us the ropes with your thing. But we're not breaking into a prison. You can't even go a day without zoning out."

Stiles narrowed his eyes but he didn't say anything. He wasn't crazy. It would work. They just had to figure out how to do it.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

When they got to Blair's place, the man went straight to his kitchen. He started banging through cabinets and dropping things onto the kitchen island. Stiles tried not to flinch at all the noise and looked around at the loft. Big windows overlooked the city and he stood in front of them for a long time just staring. There was more to see from the loft windows than there had been at the sanctuary. He could see the detail on somebody's shirt on the ground about a block away. He could read the names on the boats in the bay with a little work, and that was at least a mile away. It had to be. But Stiles' depth-perception was probably a little off because things far away seemed crystal clear and right up close.

The noise stopped and Blair called him over to the kitchen. Derek stood by, supervising and learning. Stiles really wanted to talk to him; there was no reason Derek had to do all this stuff for him, so it was driving Stiles slightly batty trying to figure out why he went to the work. But Blair shoved half a sandwich in his hand and set a glass of milk and some Tylenol on the island next to the plate with the other half.

"Eat that, take those, and then hit the showers," he ordered. "Nobody's talking to your crazy ass until you do."

Stiles gave him a flat look but the expression on Derek's face, and the way he crossed his arms, just confirmed Blair's promise. So he obliged, ate the sandwich - _without choking on fire-salt or anything!_ \- took the pain meds for his broken arm, and went to the bathroom Blair pointed him toward.

When the individual grooves and patterns of the simple shower handle proved somehow zone-worthy, Stiles realized he had a problem. Water plus cheap plastic was the weirdest feeling beneath his fingertips. Palming it was just surreal. He wasn't sure he could tolerate the drum of the water against the rest of him. But the rest of him was freaking _gross_ so it was necessary. He tried the dials in his mind and the water on his palm didn't sting so much. The faucet handle felt less like it was covered in slime and hard water to instead the normal, boring, molded plastic. And the splatter of the water falling faded to background noise. It was normal.

It was pretty awesome and a huge relief all at once.

Curiosity made him try it. Just simple curiosity and that would be his excuse forever. But he sorted through the background noise and messed with the "volume" in his head until he heard Derek. The man wasn't talking. He was not far away, probably still in the kitchen, and Stiles recognized his breathing. The shower noise drowned out Blair talking about something and Stiles realized he could hear Derek breathing. That... was as _creepy_ as it was awesome.

He shook it clear and charged into the shower to pretend he hadn't tried it. He watched mud and grass dirty up the bottom of the tub instead of his skin and picked at the honeycomb of the hard plastic of the 3D-printed cast. It dawned on him that he had no idea how they would get the cast off because he was pretty sure Beacon Hills Memorial wasn't that big on experimental tech. That was going to be fun.

The soaps weren't terribly scented, nothing offensive, so he stole some. And he played with the water. And he stalled. He wanted to go home. But everything was so weird and different now; Stiles wasn't sure he could walk away from what he had learned even if it had nothing to do with him.

He finally got out and found a stack of towels in a cupboard. He stared down at his dirty clothes on the floor and realized they hadn't thought the shower thing through quite far enough. With a frustrated grunt, Stiles tied the towel around his waist and picked up the dirty clothes. Then he went out to ask about using the washer and _please please please_ nobody tell him he had to go to a laundromat.

He found Derek where he left him in the kitchen and Blair not far away in the living room. The apartment was an open floor plan, no walls and lots of breathing room, so Stiles didn't have to go far to find them. He held up the dirty clothes.

"There's a slight problem," he said. He lost the rest of what he was going to say because Derek distracted him. His heart rate went up and he swore under his breath and Stiles heard both with crystal clarity. He _sensed_ actual panic and looked at Derek, brow furrowed in mild confusion.

"What?" he asked. Derek shook his head quickly.

"I forgot to tell you that your dad packed you a bag. Clothes. Medicines or whatever. You're good," he said. By then he was moving, passed Stiles to a staircase that went up to a loft area over a closed off bedroom. Stiles looked to Blair for an explanation and he just shrugged. Somehow the shrug was a lie. Stiles frowned and followed after Derek.

The loft area was another bedroom, dusty and unused except for clean blankets on the bed. The place smelled like Derek all over. Stiles stopped at the top and looked over at the big windows he had looked out earlier from the living room. It was a cool room space he would never have figured for a room at all.

"Nice wake-up view," he muttered, watching a boat on the harbor as Derek went digging through duffel bags. The guy tossed clean clothes - _his own, not stolen this time!_ \- at Stiles and tried to edge by him to get the stairs.

"Gonna go get coffee," Blair called out from below just before the front door closed. Stiles blinked, hugging clean clothes to his gut. Derek had calmed but he still looked ready to run the second Stiles cleared the path back down the stairs.

"He didn't ask what we want," Stiles noted. Derek shrugged.

"I'll go with him then," he said.

"You don't know what I want," replied Stiles. The logic made Derek pause a moment. That escape plan failed him and Stiles didn't move. "What the hell did I miss?"

"Nothing. It's just been a long day," said Derek with a disgruntled sigh. He scrubbed at his face, backed off to go sit on the bed. It smelled like him up here so this had to be where he had been staying, making the bed however temporarily, Derek’s bed. If they were really staying with Blair long enough to plan a jail-break, that left Stiles with the couch because there wasn’t much to the loft apartment space.

"You wanna know what makes for a long day?" asked Stiles. "A couple of _dead people_ dragging you out of bed in the middle of the night and then throwing you in some kind of haunted _dungeon_. A fight and then bureaucratic BS _doesn't count_ as long."

Derek gave him a flat look. "It wasn't a competition. You asked."

"Yeah, because you're being weird and I noticed," said Stiles. "You can't go weird on me now, man. I can't explain it but you're the only one that makes this sentinel stuff manageable. So if you could hold off on the running away from the crazy freakshow at least until I have it handled, that would be _awesome_."

"That's not-" Derek fell quiet, apparently mentally stuck. That hurt a little. Actually, kind of a lot. Stiles needed a break just then. He left Derek his space but moved over to sit by him. He _wanted_ to tell Derek what happened, what the difference was between when the guy was around or not, but he couldn't think how to explain.

"Look, you already put in all this work and going weird now would just kind of defeat the purpose, that's all I'm saying," he finally said on a frustrated sigh. Derek sounded no less frustrated.

"Define _weird_."

"Running away when I walk in a room?"

"You just got out of the _shower_ -"

"Yeah, that you told me to take." Stiles rolled his eyes as Derek shook his head.

"I wasn't _running away,_ I was giving you space to get dressed," he said. Stiles made a face at the logic.

"I _know_ you've been in the locker room at BH," he said. Derek stared out the windows across the room like he had swallowed a fish. They sat in mutually confused quiet for a moment.

"It's not weird," Derek said finally, parroting his word back at him. "Just slightly a little different and I gotta get used to it maybe."

Stiles stared at him. "Okay. If we're gonna talk semantics, how do you define _slightly a little different_ if it's not _weird_?"

Derek rolled his eyes. He took a deep breath and seemed to have a hard time finding his voice for a moment. Then he asked, "You could call _me_ or Lydia?"

Oh.

Shower.

Towel.

_Right_.

Stiles could kick himself. He had been the one to screw that up. Now he sat in a towel in a cold loft on some stranger's spare bed with Derek trying to back pedal his way out of something he shouldn't have admitted in the first place. _He_ made everything weird.

"That's just a... I mean, it's not a _new_ thing. It doesn't _change_ anything," Stiles said. Attention finally caught away from the big windows across the room, Derek looked over at him.

"Yeah, well what if it could?" he asked. Staving off a sudden threat of panic, Stiles caught himself listening to Derek's breathing and heartbeat.

"Could _good_ or could _bad_?" he asked, worried. "I mean, you saved my life this week already and you've done _that_ before and it's the same thing. I get it and I am totally obviously fine with the way I've always done things and I mean you've seen me and Lydia. We're awesome. I'm good it's just if you are-"

The ramble only shut up because Derek grinned at him.

"What? What's that mean?"

The grin turned into a smile and Derek looked him over. He clasped his bare shoulder and then stood up.

"Get dressed. You need coffee."

Stiles wasn't a complete idiot. He realized then he knew what that smile meant. And he recognized the slight shift in Derek's familiar scent. _Now_ he knew what even _that_ meant. As he started to stand in silent argument to Derek's leaving, he wondered if he would recognize it from Malia and the brief thought made him ease quickly back down like he hadn't moved at all.

_Malia_.

Because Stiles needed more complications in his life.

Derek disappeared downstairs and Stiles crashed back on the bed he sat on, sprawled out in the borrowed towel and buried under his clothes Derek had dug out for him. The bed smelled like Derek. Stiles was so screwed.

 

***

 

Thanks to the mood drop, it was a few minutes before Stiles followed after Derek. It was noticed; Derek gave him The Eyebrow. Clad in his usual layers only cleaner and less pungent, Stiles shrugged a shoulder.

"Was just wondering who had to tell Malia where I went," he said in explanation. Derek nodded his understanding.

"Scott chickened out. And he wouldn't let Lydia say anything because he didn't think she'd take it well," said Derek, tone his usual neutral somewhere between annoyed and secretly entertained. Stiles waited impatiently for the punchline, shoved his hoodie sleeves up his arms to hide his fidgeting about it.

"Please don't say my dad did it and if you _have_ to then please say all parts are still attached," he requested. Derek shook his head just slightly. That made Stiles feel a little better and yet somehow worse. " _You_ told her?"

"That was fun," said Derek, just to confirm that Stiles' life was awkward. Stiles crossed his arms on the kitchen island and buried his face in them, frustrated and embarrassed all at once. He peeked over at Derek.

"What'd she do?"

"Threatened to kill Agent McCall, said something about ganking Scott for lying to her, which, really? You taught her _that_ word?" Again with the eyebrow and Stiles rolled his eyes.

"It was better than letting her talk in public about biting and killing and winter being a hard season," he defended mildly. "She has really bad volume control when she's mad."

Derek sighed and went on, "And last I saw she was threatening to quit school to look for you and Lydia was trying to introduce her to the soccer team to stall."

"Soccer?" Stiles perked up a little. "That might actually work. Just tell her it's like chasing a rabbit or something and maybe she could get behind it."

Derek shrugged at the same time as Stiles realized he was a terrible human being for trying to pawn his werecoyote girlfriend-or-whatever off onto the _entire soccer team_. For one thing, that was a shitty thing to do to Malia, for another, the soccer team really sucked. There was a very good reason the school sport was lacrosse.

"Maybe she'd help them actually win for once though," he grumbled. He stood up a little taller, leaned into his hands against the island to look across at Derek. "How long have I been gone?"

"Today's day six," Derek said without blinking at the apparent subject change. "So much for a seventy-two hour evaluation."

Six days? He had only been running around the sanctuary for something like half that. And that whole time, while stuck in dire situations, wanting to go home, he thought about his dad and Derek and Scott and Lydia, in no particular order. Stuck on the realization that he hadn’t thought about his supposed girlfriend in three days, Stiles shook his head.

"I think they started the eval clock when I woke up finally,” he said, distracted. At Derek's concerned expression, Stiles rolled his eyes and said flatly, "They drugged me up to get me here and I only came out of it three days ago. Werewolf metabolism is awesome at getting rid of drugs but I think I'm _still_ half under."

Derek didn't look happy about that. He stood up from where he had leaned against the kitchen island and nodded toward the door. "We cut it close then. Let's go find the coffee."

Stiles balked at having to leave the safe apartment for the unknown Cascade streets. "Blair went to get coffee. Should we really leave?"

Derek shrugged. "So we go find Blair."

"How?"

Derek reached over and lightly cuffed Stiles in the head for being dense. "How do you think?"

 


	15. Chapter 15

According to Blair and the little bit of reading Stiles had snuck in the night before, sentinel senses were meant to be used in wild and rural environments. Cities were hell on normal human senses. The urban streets were filled with rotting trash and blacktop waves and car exhaust; car horns and the warning _Beep!_ of streetlights and people talking on their cellphones or yelling at each other. The humidity made the grime hang on the air and Stiles thought he could actually taste everything he could smell. Fresh from a shower and a clean, quiet environment, Stiles actually choked as they hit the street level again.

"How do you guys handle this stuff?" he asked Derek, tears in his eyes as he recovered from the coughing fit.

"Handle what?" Derek asked, distracted from the question by concern. Stiles waved a hand around the street.

"Everything," he said.

"Practice," said Derek as he caught on. "This isn't that bad."

"Are you kidding?" Stiles muttered to himself and tried to struggle through it; if Derek was fine then he should be fine. He tried to get a handle on the dials and the required balance to breathe. He cheated and caught at Derek's jacket with his fingers. Derek glanced at his hand but didn't shake him off.

"Practice, Stiles... It means you do the same thing over and over until you get good at it?"

"Yeah, but if there's a shortcut to help jump start the practice session I'll take it," said Stiles.

"What do you mean?" asked Derek. He was quiet and Stiles had to work to figure out if he was doing it on purpose or if he had accidentally set the dial too low. Then he shrugged. Derek had started them walking somewhere so he went with it.

"The dial-trick works better when you're around. I set one so I can still find you and the rest follow," said Stiles. "I know that sounds creepy but it's not like I did it on purpose. You and Scott both tracked me down last week, and when I zoned, it was like I couldn't hear him or focus on him. But your voice came in loud and clear, I could understand you."

Derek was quiet as they walked so Stiles glanced over at him to be sure he was okay. It looked like he was thinking it over. And he hadn't run away, so that was a good sign. Stiles tucked his broken arm to his chest to support it a little. He shrugged.

"I zoned out when Meyers jumped me. There was all this noise and it was like I couldn't think. And then your mom started talking to me and I could hear her too. Like I can hear you. Same exact thing happens," he said. Derek seemed to bristle at the mention of his mom but he looked more wounded than angry this time. "So whatever it is, it's in the coding. Your family tree triggers me."

"That's something to ask Blair about then," said Derek. Stiles shrugged.

"How would he know about family trees? He only ever had Jim. That's not enough for any kind of scientific comparison."

"So assuming you are hyper-focused on my family line is? That doesn't make sense-"

"Why not? Maybe it's a scent thing. Maybe she smells like you so I trust her," said Stiles.

"Can we just pause a moment to appreciate how genuinely, intensely disturbing that sentence was?" Derek asked. "My mom is dead and you're saying she smells like me."

Stiles caught his arm and pulled him to a stop moving. "She's not dead, man. I swear. Very real. She's a devious, crafty, alpha-bitch, okay. She decided I wasn't allowed to talk to you and she intentionally made me zone. Okay? She knew what she was doing and made me zone so she could lock me up and keep me from the lockdown. And she kicked Jim's ass to do it, too. Not the actions of a ghost. Very much alive. Nice lady but very... alpha."

Derek stared at him, reading him, frustrated.

"If you and Laura hadn't run, Laura would have been in this place too. Who knows where you would have been but you wouldn't have had a pack. They would have been here," Stiles pointed out. "Because that was your mom. That's why I want to go back and get her. I'm _not_ crazy."

The topic was causing Derek problems and Stiles backed off a little. "Sorry, man. It sucks."

Derek nodded. But he looped an arm over Stiles' shoulders to make him turn and start walking. It was how he could hide but Stiles swore he could smell tears and he was pretty sure it wasn't his own this time. Stiles caught a handful of his jacket at his shoulder to return the hug.

"So if you're so good with scenting people now," Derek said after a moment. Changing the subject like a pro. "Find Blair. We still have to get the right coffee shop or we can't get back in the apartment now. Door's locked."

Stiles stopped and looked around the street, slightly worried. "I thought you knew where we were going. How am I supposed to find him?"

Derek shrugged innocently. "Super-sniffer?"

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "This was a set up."

"Now you're just being paranoid. Just look for him. And don't zone. I don't know what to do with that yet," said Derek.

That was a _lie_ and Stiles didn't even have to consult the heartbeat tattle tale for that. He shoved at him with a body-check since Derek was still holding on with an arm over his shoulder. All the same, he scanned the street, looking for coffee shop signs. He didn't know Blair's scent and there was just enough pedestrian traffic that he would have a hard time picking the man out of the crowd, which left only the smell of coffee as a guide.

With Derek in his space and keeping him from walking into anything, Stiles kept half his attention on keeping track of the dials and the other half trying to sort out coffee shops from fast food within the nearest square mile from fish processing down closer to the bay. His attention roved up and down the street and he was moving and adjusting and trying harder when it didn't work. Cascade was like the coffee-consumption Capital of the world, with a different kind of coffee for every day of the year supposedly, and there was literally a coffee shop on every block. Sometimes two.

"Are we near the business district?" he muttered. Derek nodded.

"Two blocks east."

"Yuppies," muttered Stiles.

"Shouldn't be too hard to find a hippie," said Derek. "And if you can't find him in a coffee shop, there is _no_ way we're letting you break _into_ the sanctuary."

That gave Stiles a moment's pause. Challenge thus laid out, he stopped and took stock, sorted out smells and tried to focus on just the one he wanted. He could use the white noise from the shower to let him block out other noises and hear things out of the room, so maybe he could try to block smells too. That's was more difficult because what could he do to block... Stiles' attention swung back to Derek.

"Don't ask," he warned. Then he grabbed a corner of his jacket front and tugged, just enough to bury his nose in it. Derek backed off a little, eyebrows once again conveying the man's surprise and confusion. By then Stiles had his scent sorted and focused on. It was something they had tried to do with bread and onions back at the sanctuary but it never quite worked out right. And then he sniffed for coffee on the air nowhere near him, focused just enough on Derek that he could ignore the other smells.

"Holy crap," muttered Stiles a moment later. He started walking toward the nearest coffee shop. Like a freakin' toucan hunting fruit loops, just a little more subtle. But it worked.

 

***

 

The first shop they targeted was a bust but they found Blair sitting patiently at the second one with a newspaper and mug of tea. Stiles really didn't want to know what kind of tea it was because he had the strong suspicion something had died in it based on the smell. It didn't bother Derek at all but Stiles gave it a healthy distance and kept his coffee held just in front of his face. Coffee beans made a nice shield against smells and Stiles needed the caffeine fix to try to balance out mentally after the week he had experienced.

"So I guess in the interests of peace, I should tell you," Blair almost sounded apologetic, but not really, which made Stiles suspicious. "I called your dad and told him you're out. Because I am extremely not on-board with the prison break idea."

The knee-jerk reaction was anger but Stiles curbed it. _Inhale the coffee, breathe the coffee, be the coffee_.

"Don't talk to my dad," he said instead. It wasn't exactly an order but he wanted it to become standing policy. The last thing he wanted to do was sort out what his dad knew or didn't know about what was going on with Stiles, and the easiest way to avoid that was to give him updates _himself_.

"I told you, it's not a lab science here, man," said Blair. "I'm gonna have to get a full picture if I'm supposed to help. That means talking to your dad. And it means sabotaging crazy ideas that will get you _killed_. That's kinda high on my priority list too."

Stiles would sulk about it for awhile but it wasn't like he really expected anyone to go along with his ideas on getting Jim and Talia out anyway. He was surprised by what Blair said though.

"You're still going to help? With this senses thing?" he asked. He wasn't a government funded paycheck anymore, he was just a screwed up kid a long way from home. Derek stayed quiet but he looked over at Blair, just as curious. The man nodded.

"Of course. I mean, this was my area of study before Jim showed up. It's what I do so I want to help however I can. Your case is different than Jim's which means maybe I don't have all the answers but I can help you guys figure it out."

A little surprised despite the relief, Stiles thanked the eager anthropologist for it and thought it over. He needed to go home, but if help was in another state, things were going to get complicated and expensive. Blair didn't notice the quiet side from Stiles and went on happily.

"Don't thank me yet. Your head is gonna hurt by the end of the night, man. So much work to do to get you two home."

"Great," muttered Derek under his breath. Stiles glanced over at him for it but he just shrugged.

"You get really cranky with this stuff," he said. Stiles scoffed at him.

"Oh, _I_ get cranky? Try talking to yourself sometime. _Any_ time, in fact," replied Stiles. Derek nodded.

"And now you get it," he said. That was something Stiles had thought to himself many times the last few days. He didn't point that out though, just kind of smiled at his coffee and made Derek paranoid. He was getting the hang of this scent-shift thing. At least with Derek. He wasn't sure he wanted to read Blair or anybody else in the room by scent. Hence the aromatic coffee shield.

"So we get to go on a walk after we leave here, see how lost and turned around we can make you in an urban environment," Blair said, jumping right back on track. That caught Stiles' attention back from his drink.

"It's nearly dark-"

"Yep. You think this stuff only hits you in the daytime? Ha!" Blair was a man with way too much energy who was apparently very naturally easily amused.

Stiles scrunched his nose at the view out the cafe window, at the sunlight on the sidewalks slowly sinking as the street lamps came on. He wasn't a city kid, he came from a small town with a population that hardly broke thirty thousand people where everybody knew somebody's mother. And as the very well-read, very suspicious son of a sheriff, Stiles was keenly aware of the fact that Cascade, Washington, had one of the highest crime rates in the country. A walk in the middle of the city at night seemed like a really bad idea after a week in werewolf jail. His distraction was apparently obvious because Derek nudged his arm.

"I grew up in New York," he reminded helpfully. "I think I can handle Cascade."

"Everyone thinks they can handle Cascade," Blair said. Like that wasn't the worst possible form of encouragement ever. "But you've definitely got an advantage or two. And the point in the exercise is to see what kind of range that can get you. Cascade is stupidly perfect for testing you out."

"I'm not a lab rat," said Stiles. Blair rolled his eyes.

"No, you're online and you're out of your territory. No patterns memorized, no familiar places. You're processing completely new _everything_ with those chaos senses of yours." The point made, Blair started to hand-wave the conversation onto a different track. Then he stopped and thought about his words before he said them. He motioned to Derek. "Well, nothing's familiar except _him_ , and that's kind of the point. Baseline. You can read him-"

Stiles startled when Blair's cellphone went off. Focused more on ignoring the noises around him, he hadn't been expecting noise close up and nearly dropped his coffee. Blair muttered his apologies as he dug the phone out of his backpack. Then he looked up at them in surprise.

"It's Miranda. I better... Yeah, I gotta take this," he said. He was moving and headed for the door then, his backpack leaned against Stiles' legs for safe keeping. Stiles blinked at him, catching a whiff of anxiety. He looked to Derek.

"What was that?" he asked, worried. "Is he _afraid_ of her?"

"He definitely wasn't happy to hear from her," said Derek. Blair stood just outside the window, not hiding from them, and he had to know Stiles could still hear him. Stiles closed his eyes and tried to focus past the chatter of the cafe around him to try listening to what Miranda was saying.

"What are you doing?" Derek asked. He was curious but probably looking to pounce on Stiles for zoning.

"What's it _look_ like I'm doing?"

"Praying to your coffee."

The to-go cup was set down and Stiles opened his eyes, frustrated. "Doesn't matter what I'm doing. It's not working. There's too much noise." The quiet from Derek then made Stiles nervous. "What?"

"I'm not sure... I mean, there's noise in here. It's not loud to me. And I can hear Blair fine," he said.

"I can hear him, and the people in here, and the people in the kitchen talking about the freakin' creme brûlée and the little chirping noise from the street light down the block..." Stiles huffed his annoyance.

"Stiles? There's _no_ kitchen in this place," said Derek. Looking around, Stiles realized he was right. It was a tiny corner shop, with a door to the bathroom and a door marked as the store room. That only frustrated him more. He pointed at the window.

"Then why can't I hear her? On the phone."

"Because you're human?" suggested Derek. "I can't hear her. Just him."

"Yeah, we're both human. Human limitations," grumbled Stiles. "Except I can turn the volume up and count heartbeats in the next room when I'm sitting on the top floor of a building in the middle of nowhere. Somehow I'm better than you at this stuff. Or I should be."

"Then that's the difference," said Derek as he tried to follow. He looked offended that Stiles could be better at something than him. "You aren't at the sanctuary in the middle of nowhere. You're here, surrounded by people. Talking people and street sounds... It's just white-noise, like radio static. So much of the same kind of noise that you just... Tune it out as nothing worth paying attention to."

It was hard to tell which was more surprising, whether it was the fact that Derek said something spot-on about Stiles or the idea that he couldn't hear what he wanted to hear because it sounded like everything else around him. The conversation faded off because Blair ended his phone call and made his way back to the table.

"What did _she_ want?" Stiles asked. He was a little bitter about his sanctuary experience, kept expecting some new surprise from that corner. Blair didn't seem to blame him for it. He picked his backpack up to sling over his shoulder before looking to Stiles.

"We've got a date in the city in two hours," he said. He sounded confused but his usual brand of curiosity was winning.

"A date?" echoed Derek. He was just as surprised as Stiles. Although he probably didn't want to stage a formal _revolution_ at the idea like Stiles did.

"No way, man. _No_ dating the enemy," said Stiles. "You don't even like her..."

"Oh, I like her plenty. She does this thing-" Blair stopped talking because he had a habit of talking with his hands and he realized nobody actually wanted an illustration of the thing Miranda could do. "I just don't _trust_ her. She used me, big time."

"If you're going on a date tonight, you need to change that to the present tense. She's _using_ you," said Derek helpfully. Stiles nodded and pointed at Derek to back him up.

"Yeah. What he said."

"Yeah, I know, but that's okay because it's not like I haven't been using _her_ from the start," said Blair with a shrug. "Consenting adults, man. Neither one of us went into this thing expecting to pick out rings. It's more like a... Friends with benefits."

Derek rolled his eyes and shifted how he sat at the table, the subtle way Stiles knew meant he was on edge. It was never good when Derek was on edge. It made Stiles nervous.

"I really don't wanna know about the benefits, but don't you think it's a little weird that you're starting this all back up the day we get him _out_?" Derek asked.

"Oh, it's shady as hell and I know it," said Blair. His energy faded just a little and he shrugged. "But she's still got Jim. I can't just shut the door on that. I just can't. Everything _has_ to stay the same."

That made sense and Stiles couldn't argue it. He wanted to do a _jailbreak_ but Blair wanted to break _the system_. They had done it once to get Stiles out so maybe Blair could do it again for Jim.

"Okay. How much time before we have to go back?" Stiles asked.

"I gotta go now. It's in the city-"

" _We're_ in the city."

"No, I mean I have to meet her in Seattle. She lives out there. So I have to go _now_ ," said Blair. "But you guys, you still stay out until dark. You keep pushing. Just no zoning."

"Doing what though?"

Blair thought it over. "Practice not zoning out. No white-outs."

"Not like I do that on pur-" Stiles' protest silenced at the raised eyebrow from Blair. "Okay but that was _one time_ and I was trying to help you, not actually-"

"So now you go for a walk and stay out until dark and just practice not _actually_ zoning," Blair said. "Then you figure out how to get back to my place and call it a night. I bet you'll last maybe two hours. Max. So? Take a walk."

That was that, and Blair ruffled Stiles' scruffy, messy hair before nodding to Derek and heading for the door. Stiles scrunched his nose and stared at his coffee. He wanted a miracle-bullet to make everything work without making his head hurt. He didn't want to _practice_.

"At least you don't have to coordinate the whole claws and fangs thing at the same time," Derek pointed out. With werewolf jail behind him already, that actually made Stiles feel a little better.

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

They discovered at the pier side park that Stiles had Derek beat for night vision. He could see in the dark just as well in the daylight. He didn't do so great around the city lights though, with his eyes having to adjust so fast that he gave himself a headache just trying to make the mental controls stay in place. He could see further away than Derek, could pick up sounds and smells that he couldn't identify and Derek couldn't help him with because he couldn't track them at all. An hour after sundown, Derek looked at Stiles in obvious bewilderment. It was funny because Stiles tended to confuse the living hell out of Derek just all on his own, so he was used to the expression. He just hadn't seen it quite that sincere before.

"Still not a wolf," he said with a shrug. "Different kind of crazy entirely."

"That's not new," said Derek. He waved vaguely between Stiles and the rest of the world. "But it is impressive. I get why you keep zoning out. I can't even imagine sorting through everything and I'm used to it."

"Yeah. Not actually awesome," Stiles allowed. "But if I could figure it out? That'll be crazy."

"You'll get it," Derek said. It wasn't an _if_ , it was a _when_.

"Okay. Seriously? Where did this super-supportive alpha side come from?" Stiles blurted. Derek huffed a laugh.

"It came from wherever the alpha part went," said Derek. He shrugged. He crumpled his wrapper up since his dinner was gone and started cleaning up his side of the picnic table. "You needed help, they said I could help, so... I'll help."

"Yeah, you help," Stiles said, honestly grateful. He stared at his own messy paper plate ( _for the record, Cascade made good chilli dogs_ ) and tried to figure out if he was ready to call it done. He shook his head and stood to throw his trash away. "It's just funny, all the headaches I've caused you since forever and now you just hang out and _fix_ mine."

"Karma. Enjoy the guilt trip, all expenses paid," Derek replied. Stiles nodded and buried a yawn in his elbow as they started walking. It was well past dark and he was tired. Two hours playing I-spy with a competitive werewolf was taxing on the brain when it meant focusing on balancing out hyperactive senses. They only stopped for food when Stiles got too close to a zone and he was still a little foggy a half hour later.

Derek threatened to make him find their way back to Blair's but when it didn't get much more than a shrug out of Stiles, he just quietly led the way through the still semi-crowded city sidewalks toward Blair's place. After a few minutes, Stiles fell into step behind him to rest his forehead against the back of Derek's shoulder. It let him close his eyes and just follow, he could focus instead on keeping his hearing turned low as they got around traffic and people and conversations. After a block or two to rest he figured he had it handled and walked on his own again. Derek didn't say anything about it and Stiles lead the way the last few blocks to Blair's place.

They took the stairs to the loft and Stiles' ears itched, like a bug buzzed at him or something. The stairwell reeked of bleach like the floors had just been cleaned and that set him on edge. He thought he heard the sound of moving furniture but he couldn't tell if it was from the neighbors' or from someone across the street. He tugged on Derek's arm at the top of the first flight.

"I hear people," he said, quiet. Derek nodded.

"Probably the neighbors," he said. It still bugged Stiles; he muttered a little but he went with it. They didn't know the building or the city either one so it could be anything. They stopped to get the key Blair had said he kept hidden in the fire hose box on the landing before his floor, taped in an envelope at the back along the top. The buzzing sound was about to drive Stiles crazy but Derek still didn't hear it. They at least knew Blair's apartment was kept quiet so the sound was only a temporary obstacle for Stiles.

"If this doesn't stop when we get inside, we're totally leaving again," he said. Derek huffed and called him a baby under his breath, knowing Stiles would have no trouble hearing. Stiles flipped him off for grinning about it. On the last floor though they both definitely heard noises coming from Blair's apartment. The grins disappeared. Stiles easily heard three people inside moving around near the door, but the buzzing was distracting and he wasn't sure he had it right.

"We should go," he said. "Call Blair and have him call the cops."

There was a hesitation but Derek seemed to agree. It wasn't their apartment, they didn't have anything in it worth saving from burglars as the risk of their lives. Then a smell caught just barely through the bleach from the stairs. Stiles crept closer to the door, shrugging off Derek's efforts at pulling him back the other way. He waved for Derek to go back to calling Blair and set a hand on the door. The buzzing sound in his ears matched the faint pattern vibrating the door beneath his fingers and he frowned. The sound was coming from Blair's apartment? Stiles turned the knob, not at all surprised when the door moved to open. The apartment got quieter when Stiles pushed the door just a crack, enough to chase the scent on the air.

Gasoline.

What the actual hell?

Stiles dropped back from the door and got in Derek's space instead to tell him what he smelled. Derek looked as shocked as Stiles felt.

"Set up?" Stiles asked in a whisper. Derek nodded slowly. There was no way to ignore the fact that Blair had been called two hours away from the apartment currently being burgled. Something smashed inside the apartment.

"Call him," Derek said, putting a cell phone in his hand. It already had Blair's contact info up so Stiles made the call. He wasn't expecting Derek to start for the door. If it really was a set-up, the only possible explanation was the sanctuary, and they would take any excuse to catch Derek doing something supernatural so they could lock him up with his mom and Stiles up with Jim.

"What-don't-" he started but Derek shushed him. He pointed toward the door.

"One way or another, we're stuck with this. Get him to call the cops so they know not to shoot us for it. I'm gonna stop what I can," said Derek. Stiles wasn't sure he followed but he nodded and backed off toward the stairs, phone at his ear. The last thing they needed was someone lighting the whole building on fire just to try chasing Derek and Stiles out of it. He stayed where he could keep tabs on Derek as he waited for Blair to answer the call.

"Yo, Derek, man. How's the kid doing?" Blair's voice finally greeted. Stiles startled.

"Not good! Not good!" he said quickly, voice quiet so he could still focus on what had turned into an actual fist fight in Blair's kitchen. "Somebody broke into your house. They were trashing things. It smells like gasoline..."

"What?"

"Derek's in there fighting. I heard three guys, but I'm not sure because there's this buzzing from your place-"

"Sonuvabitch..."

"Derek only went in because I smelled the gas. I can't- I mean, if I go in there-"

"No, don't! Just get out!" Blair said quickly. He sounded like he was running. "I'm gonna call somebody. Just you guys get out, okay? Go wait for me at the coffee shop. It's open all night. I’ll be there as soon as I can be."

Stiles nodded, taking a deep breath, relieved. Even if the place went up in smoke, it wasn't his fault, and Blair gave him permission. "Got it. I'm gonna get Derek-"

"Get Derek. I'll call you back," said Blair. " _Right_ back. So pay attention to the phone. Don't let it startle you. No zone-"

"Got it! Just get help!" Stiles interrupted. He killed the connection and looked around. In an alcove behind the stairs at the end of the hall he spotted the fire alarm box and ran for it. He wasn't quite expecting the volume on the alarm that he set off and he clapped his hand over his ear, tucked his other arm up over his head rather than fight the cast. Then he headed back for the apartment.

"Derek! Let's go!" he shouted over the blaring noise. He slammed the door rather than lower his arms away from his ears. Just inside the apartment he was stopped dead in his tracks by the sight of a pair of men in tactical gear and armor standing over Derek off in front of the shredded and overturned couch. He was curled up and not wolfed out, no claws, no teeth, and he wasn't moving. The smell of gasoline and bleach was strongest in front of the door and the sting of it made Stiles' eyes water. Blurry vision or not, he still recognized when the men looked up to point guns at him. His arms were already up, shielding his ears, so Stiles didn't move.

"Look, we don't care about the stuff, just lemme get my friend-" Stiles tried. No normal home robbery was committed with bulletproof vests and leg guards but he could hope. In response to his weak effort at faith, the men raised their weapons a little higher to wave the laser sights in his eyes. Swearing, Stiles doubled over to duck back out into the hall but he made the mistake of bringing his arms down away from his ears.

The extra filter disappeared at the same time as his eyes were smarting from the laser blinding and his whole face stung from the bleach and gasoline all over the floor. The triple threat sent him into the hallway nose first, not quite a zone out but he was struggling to stay out of it. He could still feel the high-frequency buzzing from somewhere in the apartment as it pulsed through the floor like it had the door. Stiles tried to slide a little further away from it all but he got caught by the overload of input and made the mistake of listening for Derek. The wall of silent white won out and Stiles dropped into a zone. Apparently there was a point at which not even a guide could keep the sentinel out of trouble.

 

***

 

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what had happened at his place. There was no way Blair could put up a front for Miranda's benefit when he was ninety-nine percent certain the woman's organization had just gone after a teenage kid technically under his care. It could have been a random burglary, after all they were in Cascade, and Blair didn't have all the facts yet. But his gut said it was the Sanctuary. They wanted the sentinel kid since they couldn't prove anything and they wanted the Hale kid since they had his mom and he had already tipped them off. It didn't help that Blair had set them up perfectly by not putting them immediately on a plane home.

Blair called Miranda and bowed out of the date with bullshit about his security company calling about a fire at his apartment - _torching his place only made too much sense, with all his research there_ \- and promised to call her later. Then as he drove back toward Cascade, he called his friends at the police department.

Any activity at the loft was going to have half the crew from Major Crimes - Jim's old unit, a whole pack of over-protective detectives - reporting and Blair had to get ahead of that so the good guys didn't arrest the good guys. He told Captain Simon Banks about Stiles the baby-sentinel who knew Jim "and oh by the way his dad's a small town sheriff so don't let anybody hurt one of our own, okay?" And he mentioned Derek but went into far less detail, saying only that he was about the same age as Simon's son. The point was simple: don't kill or arrest or otherwise harass the two kids. Simon was already on the radio to the on-duty dispatch to control who responded to the scene.

When Blair ended the call he tried calling Stiles and Derek back. There was no answer. He tried again two minutes later. Then five minutes. Twenty five miles later he tried calling again. The line finally picked up.

"Sandburg?" Captain Banks' deep voice was not the one Blair had been prepared for.

"Oh damn," said Blair, hope sinking. "Simon, what happened? Tell me you've got the guys..."

"I don't. Apparently they started a fight with a couple of Feds who came to check on them- just what are you into, hanging around those two?" said the captain. He had his worried-and-disapproving tone in gear. Not good.

"It's a very, very long story, Simon. But trust me. They're the good guys. Those kids. The same thing happened to them that happened to Jim, okay? I just spent a week jumping through hoops trying to get the kid back home-"

"Well, they're headed in for evaluation. They apparently aren't mentally fit and by the time I got here, one of them was on a stretcher, bound for the hospital."

"Stiles. He zoned. Oh shit, Simon-"

"Your place is trashed, Blair. I just found this phone in a pile of _actual_ trash. Your house-guests attempted to burn it all down-"

Blair shook his head in stubborn refusal. "Simon. It wasn't them. You have to hear me on this."

"Are you driving?" The captain asked. Blair was momentarily derailed by the logical question.

"Well yeah. I'm just heading back in from Seattle-"

"Then get off the phone. Drive, Sandburg. I'll talk to you when you get here."

The advice was followed but only under duress and complaint. Blair kept both hands on the wheel the rest of the drive home. He did a lot of speeding instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *~~runs away to avoid being lynched~~*


	17. Chapter 17

When Stiles woke up, he was back in the med bay at the sanctuary. It wasn't a surprise. It was infuriating. His arm was locked into the cuff again, this time with an actual lock to hold the straps closed. He glared at the ceiling and fought the urge to yell or cry, he couldn't decide which was worse just then. As he calmed down though he realized he heard someone in the room with him. Looking around, he saw Derek sitting on the floor against the wall, pissed off but patiently waiting for the door to open and just let him out or something. If there was anything Stiles wanted out of life lately it was the ability to read Derek's mind but that wasn't in his new bag of tricks. Derek looked up at him then and the anger was obvious enough without getting in his head.

"I hate this place already," was all he said. Stiles nodded his agreement, tugged on his arm for added emphasis.

"My hatred comes with jewelry. We have leveled up in our relationship status," he said.

"You okay?" Derek asked.

Stiles just shrugged. His head hurt but that was usual. It dawned on him then how quiet Derek was. That was awesome of him actually. "Are you?"

There was a shrug and Derek stood up. "I haven't heard from anybody since we got here. They let me stay here. You were asleep, I just didn't tell _them_ that."

"Asleep? But I-" Stiles shut up when Derek shook his head.

"Yeah, there's a difference. Your heart rate and breathing changed once they put you in here. Like you were asleep. Before then there was all the noise and you were all over the place," said Derek.

"I didn't hear you."

"I didn't talk. They moved you in an ambulance. I got an escort in the back of a black Tahoe."

"That's right out of the movies."

At least his eyebrows seemed amused by the cliche. Stiles rattled at the handcuff chain in a hopeful hint. Derek thought about it a moment before he flashed claws and shredded the leather in three places. Stiles squawked a protest to the overt use of werewolf advantage in the Sanctuary before it sunk in that it wasn't news to anybody outside the glass windows. He sat up, angled so he could face Derek without losing easy sight of the door. Anger faded to worry, he watched Derek in an effort to sort out how the current state of things settled with him.

"What did I miss this time? How screwed are we?" he asked. Derek eyed the ash wood embedded in the carpet.

"A piece of the ash strip pulls out on the other side. I didn't see them set it down. But you broke out of this place before," he said. Stiles jumped down from the bed to go look. He decided not to mention that he didn't get far either time he tried to sneak off. He heard steps in the hall beyond the glass walls and snapped to attention, like that wasn't the most conspicuous thing he could have done. The steps stopped and Stiles scanned the mirrored walls. He noticed Derek watching him in the reflection and was momentarily distracted.

Unnatural movement in the image caught his attention and Stiles focused on the glass, tried to remind himself it was a window and not a mirror. If he could see in the dark then maybe he could focus through the glass. All he saw were shadows, but it definitely wasn't Derek with the wavy long hair just barely visible through the window. The shadows moved toward the door and Stiles nodded Derek's attention to it just as the lock disengaged.

"It's the warden," he said, quiet. Derek turned to look but kept his distance. The door stayed open once Miranda stepped inside, either unconcerned with a jailbreak or more concerned with the possibility of attack.

"That didn't last long," the warden said to Stiles. "I'm not sure I understand why you tried to burn down Blair's place after all he's tried to do for you, but I can't say I'm _surprised_." The last was said with a look cast at Derek. He crossed his arms but didn't say anything to the dig.

"Maybe you'd have been surprised if you hadn't set us up to start with," Stiles pointed out. "You set Blair up."

"I can only do so much to help Blair. And he makes even that extremely difficult," said Miranda and she almost looked like she meant it. She shook her head and seemed to dismiss it. "Which is why I need to know what you told him about your roommate."

"I see two problems with that question," replied Stiles. "First, I didn't tell him anything. Which brings up the second problem, because I could tell you I wrote the man an essay and you wouldn't believe that either. So screw you."

"Stiles," intoned Derek, a friendly warning. Stiles waved it off.

"No. I wanted to go home, I was gonna go home. And now we're stuck here, and it's her fault-"

"No, it's Blair's fault," Miranda said. "He brought in a wolf. To a situation that he knew didn't warrant it. I don't appreciate the complications. So you can thank him."

"Fine. When can we talk to him?" said Derek. Miranda hardly looked at him.

"Maybe in a few days. When things settle down. I won't keep putting the lower levels on lockdown. So it will depend on how Stiles can handle himself with just the dissertation and Jim."

"And Derek," added Stiles. The warden rolled her eyes.

"Jim Ellison has survived just fine without a so-called guide for two years. So despite what Blair tried to make you believe, you don't need Derek and he certainly doesn't need you," she said. "Wolves and the Others don't get along great in the field. So you two will figure it out for yourselves. Dr. Sandburg is out of the picture for a good long while."

There was a bed standing between Stiles and Derek. It took a little more effort but he moved to stand in front of Derek, stopping just short of the buzzing ash boundary and angled to block the warden's access to his new favorite werewolf. "I'm staying with him. So wherever you put him, make sure there's room for the both of us."

"What did you tell Blair about Jim Ellison?" Miranda countered.

"Nothing. I told you," said Stiles. "So just stick us back in the block with the guy already."

The warden stared at him, judging and assessing him. She seemed to peg him as not worth the fight and crossed her arms, stepped aside from the door. "Fine. After you."

Stiles looked from Miranda to Derek and back, his expectations clear. "After him," he said. Miranda allowed it and moved to the wood line embedded in the floor. She nudged a corner chunk with the pointed toe of her high heeled shoe and it popped out of the puzzle-piece groove that held it in place.

A little of the tension Stiles felt disappeared then, like a heavy knot loosened in his chest and shoulders. He looked to Derek, a low panic threatening. He had felt the mountain ash barrier disengage. By then Derek was moving. He caught Stiles by the elbow, a perfect distraction just by being in his space. An intrusive thought demanded to know what a kiss would feel like if just holding his arm made him relax so much. Except Stiles knew it wasn't just Derek that caused it. He had felt the mountain ash.

They were met in the hall by a team in tactical gear. A full team. Stiles forced Derek to change his hold by tucking under his arm and in against his side. He needed the contact high to counter the anxiety that suddenly threatened. He didn't say anything until the march of the men around him could nearly drown him out.

"Apparently we don't have enough to deal with because something just got added to the list," he said in a whisper, his head turned toward Derek and attention on the floor as they walked. He felt Derek's hand slide up his shoulder to the side of his head. A moment later Derek pressed a reassuring kiss to his temple. Whether it meant anything else or not was anybody's guess; it was a way for him to hide his reply from the Sanctuary staff around them.

"I noticed," he said, so quiet that Stiles hardly heard him. But he felt the words against his skin, leaned a little heavier into Derek's side. It seemed like just when he had a handle on something, the rules had to go and change on him.

"I miss my dad," he admitted. "I want to go home."

All he got from Derek in response was a squeeze of the shoulder and another kiss to the side of his head. It didn't actually make him feel better, but it was all Derek could do.

 

***

 

The lockdown didn't cause much of a fuss and Stiles looked around at the darkened, too-familiar cells to realize he had only been gone hardly ten hours. Derek kept his distance, too aware of the strangeness of the place. The last time he was there, he had been dragged into a fight within minutes. Not sure where else to go, Stiles stopped at Jim's cell just as before. Except for the fact that he couldn't cross the line. His hand pressed up against a wall of energy just past the gate. Derek tapped a knuckle on the bars to get Ellison's attention.

"Hey, are you awake?" he asked. Stiles watched Jim jump down from the top bunk.

"I'm not sure. _You're_ not supposed to be here and I don't recall sending up for a wake-up call," the man replied. Stiles grimaced, not quite ready to joke about his life.

"It was a set-up. Now we're here because we burned Blair's place," said Stiles. He waved toward Derek. Derek nodded.

"Two for one deal and this time no eval needed. We just disappeared," he said. He sounded angry but Stiles recognized the fear on the air.

"Talia's gonna kill you," Jim observed.

"That's why it would be _awesome_ if we could stay with you and not her," said Stiles, his cheer completely sarcastic. Derek didn't like the topic shift and he crossed his arms for a little distance. Stiles mentally flailed around, not sure how to get Jim to share.

"We'll make peace in the daylight when she can't attack me with bright shit that's gonna make me zone," he said. "Just a few hours."

Jim shrugged it off. "I don't care. But I'm not sharing my bunk, so you two can fight over the bottom one."

"Let me in then," said Derek. Stiles breathed a little easier at the realization that he wouldn't have to admit out loud yet that he couldn't cross the wolf-barrier he had set up only a few days earlier. Something had happened, something was different, but he didn't know what yet. And it scared him so he didn't even want to think about it.

Jim gave him a look though, because the man was a logical, thinking human being, and he noticed the distance Stiles kept from the line. All the same, he crouched and dragged a finger through the ash. Stiles crowded in and crashed to the bunk immediately. Once Derek was inside he waved at the line in a hint for Jim to fix it again. Crouched over his knees, the former cop looked from where Stiles sat in the corner to where Derek stood and tried to hide without hiding.

"I'm supposed to lock him in?" he asked. Stiles nodded.

"More concerned about keeping people out for right now," said Stiles. "Just don't forget us when you leave."

Jim shook his head and closed the line again. He stood and let himself back up into his bunk. "I'm going to catch sleep while I can. Keep it quiet or I let you starve in here tomorrow."

Stiles scrunched his nose, not liking the order at all. Jim was a sentinel. His version of quiet and the rest of the world's were completely different. Talking to Derek was definitely off the table. He thwapped his friend in the leg to get his attention and then waved for Derek to sit. The bed was long and narrow; lying down was going to be all but impossible but there was plenty of room for them to both sit. They could pretend it wasn't as weird as it was, anyway. Stiles slouched against the wall, stared at Derek as he settled in. He didn't add any volume, only mouthed the words, but he asked "are you okay?" and got a nod in reply as Derek settled in. It was all definitely Stiles' fault. He wasn't sure if the guy would still be talking to him in the morning.

 

***

 

By the time Blair got back to his apartment, the fire trucks had left behind a litter of cop-cars and a mess. The neighbors were in varying stages of dress, from work clothes to pajamas and robes, and stood at various points along the lobby and stairwell talking to cops. If they weren’t talking, they were waiting to talk. Some stood in the doors of their apartments to talk. There were cops actually _everywhere_. Most of them recognized Blair from the department still and didn’t stop him as he headed up to the fourth floor in search of Simon Banks.

His place was _trashed_. The feds had nothing to justify taking over the scene so it was a local matter, which meant the burned sections of the living room and kitchen were already being combed by the Cascade forensics team. The couch was torn up and the stuffing pulled out, the kitchen table gone, and there were sections of the wood floor in the kitchen that were going to need replaced because a trail of gasoline made a great wall of fire to trap a werewolf if needed. The kitchen counters were scorched and every dish that had been drying in the strainer was now on the floor, among trash under the table that had been used as further accelerant to burn. For nearly a full minute, Blair stood in the door and stared at the mess and at the cops with cameras clicking away.

Then he saw his bedroom doors were opened and seemed to come out of it. He dodged people working the crime scene as he hurried to his room. It doubled as his office. Everything he had on Jim was there. The notes he had taken on Stiles and the few things he could dig up on the teenager's background were thankfully not printed, only in his iPad safely in his backpack, and the net on that only worked around wifi. He was bricking the iPad at the soonest available opportunity, but first he had to see the damage on Jim.

He came up short at the doors, seeing Simon working his desk over personally. That made him feel a little better. Blair flung his backpack on the bed and moved over to see what he could find from the mess. Simon looked at him and shook his head, his usual level of frustrated.

"I can't tell how much of this tornado is their fault or how much is just how you live, Sandburg," Simon greeted. He was a cheerful man. Really. Blair just waved it off.

"I have a _system_ , Simon. I have to be able to find things when I want them. So I learned to put them away," he said. It was an obvious contrast to the mess before them now; books were thrown all over the floor, papers were strewn across the desktop, the computer was... gone. Blair absently backhanded Simon's arm and pointed to where his computer should be.

"Right, so my house-guests who were escorted out in handcuffs took my Mac with them for some _light reading_ during their _psych eval_ ," he said, hushed and frustrated. Simon looked at the one place on the desk not buried by old news articles and photocopies of old photos about aboriginal tribes in the Amazon. Then he caught Blair by the arm and pulled him toward the door. Blair scrambled to grab his backpack again before they made the main part of the apartment. Simon let him walk unguided out of the apartment and pointed him up the stairs to the roof. Blair knew the man well enough to know something was going on. Simon was mad, and this was one of those rare occasions that he wasn’t mad at Blair.

“What in the name of god did you get into, Sandburg?” Simon asked. He had known the question was coming and Blair was already shaking his head.

“Come on, Simon. You know I’ve been looking for Jim. And I swear I found him this time. The kids saw him, they confirmed it’s Jim for me, and as long as I don’t screw this up, I can get him out,” said Blair. He ran a hand through his formerly perfect hair and didn’t care at all that the style was gone and his bangs were loose in his face. He was dressed for a date, pacing the roof of his apartment, and still clinging to desperate notions that he could salvage something two years in the works. “Shit. Everything is so screwed up...”

“I’m not sure how you expect to get to Jim when you can’t even keep a couple of kids out of trouble, Sandburg,” said Simon. He wasn’t quite as harsh but he was still agitated. “You know what that crime scene reeks of to me?”

“Gasoline?” suggested Blair, on a completely different wave length. “Bleach?”

Simon glared at him. “A set up. You got played. You got robbed. And a couple of kids got framed for it. One of them’s in the hospital-”

“I will bet you fifty bucks that kid’s not in the hospital,” said Blair on a sarcastic laugh. “Call and check. Right now. You aren’t going to find him wherever they told you they’re taking him. It’s the same thing that happened to Jim. Exact same thing. Except this time they didn’t just take my stuff with a warrant. It wouldn’t make sense for Jim to break into his own house, but a couple of kids-”

“Sandburg!” Simon’s big voice echoed slightly off the rooftop and Blair calmed down. He stopped pacing and tried to keep his attention focused on Simon. The man saw he was stressed out and changed his tone a little. “Whatever you might think you’re dealing with... You’re in over your head. You need help-”

“No. No way, Simon. No,” said Blair. “You’ve got a family. Your kid’s got a kid on the way. He’s graduating soon. There is no way you’re getting involved in this. I’ve been working it two years-”

“This isn’t an undercover assignment or something-”

“No! It’s just _Jim_. That guy’s my partner and my friend and I want him back. Okay? I don’t care if I’m in over my head. You can’t even begin to fathom what he’s been through the last two years, Simon. I can’t even explain it to you. You’d think I was crazy,” Blair told him. And it was closer to the truth than Blair had ever dared tell anyone. He had used his status within the department - a detective back then, like Jim, - to gain access to the remaining asylums he thought Jim might have been sent to. But the first time Simon asked about what he found on his trips to look for Jim, Blair resigned. Simon kept him on the books as a consultant, because Blair and Jim had been a good team and Blair could still work, but Blair knew he couldn’t look for Jim on the books. Simon would have tried to arrange it, just to get Blair the help. It wouldn’t work. But Simon Banks wasn’t easy to shake.

“Well, thankfully I have known you far too long to assume you’re fully sane, Sandburg, so tell me _something_ ,” he said. The man’s tone held patience but just as much warning. “Otherwise I’m making up whatever charges I think will stick and tossing you in county lock-up for your own protection if I have to. Because what I’ve seen tonight is beyond what your luck can get you out of. You need help or you need out of it entirely. And as much as I want to help Jim, I know he would side with me at this point.”

Frustrated, Blair paced away. He couldn’t exactly tell Simon that werewolves were real and there was a whole prison of them just a couple hours outside of town. Or there were who knew how many of them running around Cascade because they were just normal people with a slight issue or two with instinct and a very definite proof that magic was really real... Nobody would believe him. He would be sent for an actual psychiatric evaluation and locked up for it just because Simon could be thorough like that.

“Fine. Fine, Simon!” Blair said finally. “I’ll go get real help. That’s more than just me. I don’t know what the hell I could possibly do for anybody at this point. But I’ll go get help.” His former boss started to argue again but Blair cut him off. “It just can’t be _you_. I already told you why so stop asking. I promise to get help if you promise to leave it alone from now on.”

“Leave it alone?” asked Simon, surprised.

“Yeah. Get everybody out. Let me lock up my place and I’ll get out of here,” said Blair. He was making it up as he went, thinking out loud, but his gut said he was thinking right on this one. He should have put the boys on a plane home the second he got them away from the sanctuary. So now he would get himself on a plane and try to figure out something from the air. It’s not like Miranda would crash a plane trying to get to him. At least not yet.

“Fine but then what? What do you think you can do about this?” Simon asked. “It’s two years and you’re chasing _ghosts_. Now there’s a couple of _kids_ caught up in it...”

“I honestly don’t know what I’m doing anymore, okay?” Blair said. “It’s big and it’s... it’s weird and I’m in over my head. No arguments there. But I have to do _something_. I’m not giving up.”

There was just too much Blair couldn’t admit to his friend. Even if that something was _crazy_ , if it was all Blair had to work with, he would make something work.


	18. Chapter 18

Stiles eventually fell asleep slumped against Derek's shoulder, the both of them sitting up against the cold concrete wall. There was room for the both of them that way. And it stayed quiet that way. His senses didn't spike or go beyond what he felt was his old normal. He intentionally muted everything and fell asleep by trying to get his breathing to match Derek's.

When he woke up, Derek hadn't moved much except to drape his arm over Stiles' back. He had sprawled, arm across Derek's lap, head at his ribs over his heart, and the rest of his limbs slouched and draped off the edge of the mattress.

"Oh jeezus," Stiles choked on the gasp as he realized what he had done. He was uncoordinated from simple exhaustion and moved slower than he thought reasonable to pull back into his own space. Derek smirked over at him, smug.

"Good morning, sleepy," he said, taunting. Stiles grumbled at him and scrubbed at his face.

"Jerk."

"You sleep like the dead," said Derek. "We missed breakfast."

Stiles lightly pounded his head on the wall behind him. He had done that before. It wasn't awesome but they would survive until dinner. In theory, anyway.

"Did Jim break the line at least?" he asked.

Derek looked over at him. The look like he was older and wiser and Stiles was missing a clue.

"Nope. Figured you needed to try it. Maybe yesterday was a fluke," he said. Stiles shook his head automatically. He didn't want to go near the ash. If there was some reason it didn't work the day before, he didn't want it confirmed until he had answers as to why. The sentinel thing was just simple, non-magic, human capabilities on overdrive. There was no reason the ash should limit him. It didn't mess with Jim. It hadn't bothered Stiles until Talia's witch put him in a twelve hour white-out. That was the only magic he'd been around in days, probably since the Nogitsune coughed him up almost. And she had told him he was his mother's son so it couldn't be that simple. Maybe Talia jinxed him or something?

"I don't know why it didn't work," he said. He didn't want to know. He was in the sanctuary, he wanted to go home someday, so he was better off not knowing. "I'm just gonna get a handle on the sentinel thing."

"No, you're going to figure it out. Jim can walk through it. We need to know why you can't. If it has to do with the white-outs then-" Derek stopped talking when Stiles let out a frustrated, strangled growl and shoved himself off the wall. He moved to the gate and the line of mountain ash blocking it. If Derek was going to pull out the 'we' word, Stiles was going to need some distance.

The mountain ash didn't let him break the line. His arm was a little looser in the cast after a week so he tried nudging the ash with just the plastic edge but it didn't work. It wasn't like he would admit to it but Stiles gave up. He stared down at the line.

"When is Ellison coming back?" he asked. Derek frowned, shrugged. Their new roommate (probably only temporary) had gone to get breakfast and would bring anything back that he could get away with. But in the meantime, they were stuck inside. Because Stiles couldn't break the ash. New and unexpected things conspiring against them yet again. Stiles stood and started to pace the small space. Derek looked on, his knees drawn up and wrists draped over them as a way to hide. He didn't have any answers either.

Stiles kicked at the wall as he came to it, turned and took a step and then stopped as the realization hit him. "We're actually stuck here, aren't we? They won't let us out to see Blair. He can't get us home..."

Derek didn't say anything at first, hardly looked up at him. Then he shrugged and met Stiles' worried stare.

"If my Mom's really been here for six years? I don't think we have a chance," he said finally. "She would have figured a way out by now if it was possible, some loophole or trapdoor either one."

That wasn't a logic Stiles had resorted to yet and it was so much worse when put in that light. He wouldn't get to see his dad again. It was like all of his friends were gone, all of Beacon Hills out of reach. Permanently. Talia Hale had been sent to the sanctuary and everyone thought she had died. The same thing had happened to Victoria Argent; even Allison had thought her mom was dead.

"They're gonna think we're dead," Stiles realized. "My dad's gonna freak-"

"Don't, Stiles," said Derek.

"But Scott-"

Derek shook his head. "He's going to have to figure out how to take care of himself now. Just like we have to, okay? You and I have to worry about getting ourselves through this place every day. That's enough to worry about for now, alright?"

Stiles heard the 'we' word again and stared openly. "You've got your mom out there, you know. She's got this whole _pack_ -"

"So?" Derek almost looked annoyed by the reminder. "You're in _here_. I didn't come here for my mom."

The stupid thing was that the guy meant it. Stiles could hear it in his voice and in the steady heartbeat. He didn't quite know what to do with the information that Derek would rather take his chances with Stiles' luck than fall in with the safety of family.

"Seriously?"

"I knew what I was doing when I came up here," said Derek. "You need someone with you. Either we both go back or we both stay here. That was my plan. It hasn't changed."

It had been a rough week for Stiles. From the white outs to the broken arm, the FBI agents and wardens out to have him killed, the headaches and the strange smells... He felt stretched thin and about to break at the thought that he couldn't go home.

And then Derek freaking Hale.

"So we're just going to stay here?" Stiles asked. "You and me, for now?"

Derek nodded. There was the faintest tug of a grin on his face. "Until we can leave. And if we can't even get past the ash we put down ourselves, that could be awhile."

Stiles was generally bad with personal space. A few messed up weeks trying to help Scott train Malia how to be human hadn't really helped that because she was worse than he was. And that was the only excuse he had for ducking under the top bunk and into Derek's space. He shoved knees and hands carefully out of the way and got right in the man's face. And Derek grinned at him for it. So, kneeling on the narrow mattress and leaned in between Derek's knees, Stiles braced an arm on the wall behind his head and kissed him.

He forgot to check the dials in his head first and thought he maybe might die younger than planned when Derek caught him at the back of the neck, skin on bare skin, to pull the kiss a little closer. Stiles didn't care if the warden herself showed up to kick him home then; he was too busy checking a cell-block make-out session off his bucket list because the sentinel senses were going to kill him. But that didn't mean he bothered to try turning them down.

 

***

 

By nine AM the next day, Blair was tiredly navigating his way from the airport in Sacramento, California to Beacon Hills. It was over an hour away from any major international airports and too tiny of a city to warrant its own real airport to even catch a commuter flight. Blair began to understand the overwhelming culture shock he had accidentally subjected Stiles to the night before. He had dropped him in the middle of a sprawling urban jungle - after a week locked up in the confined world of a violent prison - and told him to find his way back to a safe zone. Not Blair's smartest plan. But he had been worried about _Jim_ then, not Stiles. That was a mistake; the kid had been in his care, in reach, and Jim was in lockdown and had been long unreachable. Now Blair was back to square one with worse odds than he started with and he had screwed up two kids' lives for it, in addition to Jim's. He wasn't going to let that screw up disappear under a rug.

Blair wasn't sure where to start looking in Beacon Hills. But he needed to talk to the sheriff and he didn't want to do it over the phone. He was eighty-percent certain his phone was monitored now, for one thing. More than that though was the absolute certainty that he didn't want to tell the sheriff about losing his kid to a subversive shadow agency of the government in a more than likely permanent arrangement. Stiles was right about not getting the man's hopes up. The kid was strangely psychic.

The sheriff's station was the logical place to start. Anywhere else would require a phone call and Blair was hoping to avoid that. The rental car had GPS on the dash and he parked where it told him to, outside a brick-fronted building bracketed between what looked like small warehouses. It was tiny, nothing at all like what he was used to in Cascade, and Blair argued with the GPS for nearly a minute trying to convince the technology it had pointed him in the wrong direction. He lost that mental bet and reluctantly got out of the car.

The front lobby was narrow and monitored by a Community Resource Officer pushing papers around a desk. Blair offered her a charming smile and asked for the sheriff's office, totally cheating and showing his credentials with the Cascade PD rather than his driver's license for ID. He was a _consultant_ , he had clearance with Major Crimes, and he wasn't there on official business, so it was a very good thing Blair didn't mind bending the rules. It got him an escort to the sheriff's office. When the CRO announced him, the sheriff looked up fast, like the woman had just let a rabid dog into the room he would have to shoot.

"Sandburg?" Sheriff Stilinski asked. Blair glanced at the suddenly nervous CRO and back, nodded.

"Yeah, that's me. We need to talk, if you've got a minute, Sheriff," he said. The sheriff waved him in and nodded the other officer her permission to leave.

"Where's Stiles?" the sheriff asked. Blair glanced around the bullpen outside the man's office before shutting the door. He wasn't going to try standing on formality with the guy; it was his kid in the middle of everything and there was no way to sugar coat that. Blair wouldn't even try.

"The Sanctuary took him back. Him and Derek both. They broke in to my house and made it look like the kids tried to burn the place down so there wouldn't be any questions this time," said Blair quickly. He was half expecting the sheriff to yell; his face went slowly red and he looked like yelling would do him some good but the man just kept his seat. A moment later he seemed to relax a little, the anger faded, and he seemed to take a real breath.

"I told you something like this was gonna happen," said Sheriff Stilinski. He pointed at the chair across the desk from him. "Derek sat right there and argued with me. I've known about that place for a week and I knew more about it than he did-"

"He _needs_ to stay with Stiles, Sheriff," Blair interrupted. "If he sat and argued with you about it? That's _instinct_. That's just proof he made the right call. Even if he ended up there. He can watch out for Stiles now."

"That doesn't make this okay," said the sheriff. "It doesn't change the fact that there's not a damn thing I can do about it. The place is _untouchable_. I spent all week digging up whatever I could. I can't even find a lawyer in three states who will go near that place."

Blair nodded his understanding. He had been dealing with Miranda's agency for two years and seen some incredible, terrifying things, but never once a lawyer willing to touch any of them.

"That's why I came down here, actually, Sheriff," he said. He heaved a sigh, ran an anxious hand back over his hair. "This is maybe stupid but maybe it's not. You'd know better than I would. You know Stiles."

That got the sheriff's attention and he sat up, looking ready to be _mad_. "What did he do?"

"Nothing yet. But here's the thing-" Blair paused to scramble into the chair across the desk so he could talk a little quieter. "He found out while he was there the first time that Derek's mom is in there. And somebody named Allison? - her mom is there too. And he got it in his head that he wanted to do a jailbreak to get them out."

The sheriff buried his face in his hands and let out a groan.

"That's why I called you yesterday, why I made sure you knew he was out. I was trying to get him off the idea, I thought he would get off that track and want to go home. I mean, we were so close. We had no way to know they would pull this." Blair hesitated. It was hard to tell if the sheriff was listening or not. "But if we've got Stiles locked in a really big box with werewolves - walking, talking, lethal weapons - how likely is he to try getting out of that box?"

Blair figured he already knew the answer to that; even without the werewolves, Stiles had been impossible to keep locked up. It pissed off Miranda that she couldn't figure out how the kid did it because the locks in the medbay were supposedly chemical resistant and yet Stiles had fried their programming on his way out using only bleach and a few liquid medicines. With werewolves backing a Houdini like that, there could be a rather huge problem on their hands sooner rather than later. And if Stiles was online, he would get territorial really quickly about what was _his_ out on that yard. They needed to be ahead of that.

Sheriff Stilinski stared down at the desktop, head between his hands. "My kid? Very likely," he said, painfully resigned. "He got it from his mom. If he had made it to the senior yearbook in school, he would be the kid voted most likely to cause a prison riot. That's just _Stiles_."

It wasn't a surprising answer and Blair just nodded. "Except now he's got Derek. And they've got Jim. And whatever Derek's mom can bring to the table. And they've got _us_. So maybe... Maybe we can help them when they make their move."

The sheriff of Beacon Hills lifted his head slowly from his glare at the cluttered desk-blotter. And he looked like he was listening.

 

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

By the time Jim got back with a pilfered plate of bread and eggs, the fun in the cell had already cooled off. Stiles was half-zoned and sat in the middle of the lower bunk, slumped against Derek's back with a guide for a wall between him and the hall. Noise was everywhere and everything was turned up and refused to go back down. Sitting and staring at the darkest possible corner of the cell was all he could do to fend off a headache. Too much Derek was apparently a thing, too. He was still the best mute button Stiles had found yet for the chaotic senses, but they had definitely caused a sensory overload; at least Stiles caught it before he blacked out on the guy. Literally.

He wasn't all that happy with his life at the moment since he was stuck in prison for starters and, secondly, couldn't even handle the prison boyfriend like the movies. (And Stiles had seen some really informative prison movies to know he was a bad prison boyfriend already.) So it took him a moment to register someone handing him food and asking him something.

"So if _he_ won't talk, would you like to maybe fill me in?" Jim was saying to Derek when Stiles tuned back in.

"All we know is he can't cross the line. We're no closer to understanding why than we were last night," said Derek.

"And you're here for good?" Jim sounded irritated but not at them.

"It wasn't Blair's fault," Stiles offered up. He sat up, away from Derek and into his own space to contemplate the piece of bread he had been given. "He wasn't even in the city. They sent him on a wild goose chase into Seattle."

"That's all well and good but why weren't you two on the first plane out of the state?" asked Jim. Stiles scowled at his lap; he felt Derek looking over at him, little blue lasers probably lit up and trying to bore holes into his brain to fix the _stupid_.

"If we had they would have just crashed the plane and blamed us anyway," he argued, slightly bitter.

"Probably. But then at least you wouldn't be stuck back in this place," said Jim. The question bugged him and Stiles chewed on it as much as his breakfast.

"But what if we're not stuck though?" he asked finally. Derek rolled his eyes as Jim huffed his amusement at it. He leaned on the wall between the room's stack of books and the tiny corner sink. The big man crossed his arms, always the first sign someone was about to ignore Stiles.

"Look, kid. I get it. You're new to all of this. The sentinel gig, this place. And that sucks, it really does," Ellison said. "But trust me. If there was a way out that didn't lead to worse trouble than we'll ever find here, I would have dug it up by now. Or Talia's pack would have. They have all but waged war on this place in the last year alone."

"Did you try helping them?" asked Stiles. "This place drives me crazy, I can hear everything, half the time I swear the walls are breathing. But you can control all that... You can sense everything better than them-"

"And you've seen that is definitely not an advantage," Jim pointed out. "They don't know what I am maybe but they sure know how to knock me down."

Stiles' eager ideas - admittedly more parts desperation than he wanted to admit - faded back some. He couldn't argue with that. The dry chunk of bread was torn at like it was a tiny live animal needing killed.

"I think we could do it," he said, stubborn. "You and us and the pack. It's Talia's pack. Hale pack was, like, _legendary_ because of her."

Derek stared at him, somewhere between amused and surprised. If Stiles hadn’t been heaping praise on his mom, he probably would have called bullshit; that was definitely the Hale family _bullshit_ face. "I thought you said she wanted to kill you."

"Well yeah but that's just how I hit people. Everybody wants to kill me," said Stiles with a shrug. "That's what you're for. You have this strange, inexplicable refusal to let people kill me when they want to and look at all the good it's done you so far."

Stiles smirked at him and Derek tried so very, very hard not to smile. Jim shook his head.

"We gotta get you guys your own damn room," he said. If he was at all expecting the pair to disagree, he must have been very disappointed by their nodding heads backing up the idea.

"But first we gotta make peace with the new Hale pack," said Stiles. "And make sure Allison's mom doesn't actually want me dead. That will go a long way toward making sure _Derek's_ mom doesn't actually want me dead. And then we can all sit down and discuss how to get out of werewolf jail."

"I just told you it wasn't possible," said Jim.

"And you never tried teaming up with the others to find out for sure," argued Stiles, slightly smug about it. "Teamwork, Detective Ellison. Are you telling me you can seriously think of better things to do with your time in here than try to get out?"

"Oh, I don't know... _Staying alive_ comes to mind," returned Jim.

"First rule for a prisoner of war is to escape," said Stiles.

"Yeah, in situations where the enemy needs kept busy and distracted and where the _Geneva Convention_ guaranteed a _superficial_ level of safety. But this _isn't_ World War I and there is no war _beyond these walls_ that we can win," said Jim. He was frustrated to the point of anger but he kept it in check. All the same, Stiles' confidence faded again. "I can barely hold the territory here. Getting out of it would take an army. Going home would just be suicidal."

The outlook was depressing and Stiles wanted to argue it but he stopped. Footsteps from the hall were coming closer, not moving further away, so he let Jim have the last word on it. Besides, the tattoo on the guy's arm said he was an ex-army ranger and that gave him a big advantage over even Derek's claws. Then a scent caught the air and Stiles shrunk back against the wall at the back of the bunk, putting Derek clearly between him and the open gate guarded only by mountain ash. Jim nodded toward the direction of the scent in answer to Derek's silent confusion.

"You ask the girls. They'll tell you it's insane," the man said. Talia Hale stepped into view a moment later, Victoria Argent with her.

"It is insane," Victoria confirmed. Her stance matched Jim's and she was somehow just as imposing even though she was still hardly half the man's weight class. Talia though wasn't as closed off. She leaned against the open gate, looked in at Derek.

"But the boy is right," she said mildly. "With pack it could be a little less so."

 

***

 

"Are you insane?"

The question struck Blair as both rude and redundant. The Sheriff of Beacon Hills was talking about participating in a jailbreak at what was, essentially, a federal penitentiary for all things supernatural; of course he was insane but he was still the county sheriff. Sandburg crossed his arms and frowned at the man the sheriff had taken him to meet. Chris Argent was supposed to be a hunter but he didn't look like any hunter Blair had ever come across in any culture around the planet. He was too well dressed and clean, just for starters. And he was hardly as tall as Blair. Jim would make Argent look like a midget, so how did the guy take on werewolves? And Blair wasn't entirely clear on why he was mouthing off to the county sheriff when his actual goal in life was to hunt people like Jim and Stiles and Derek.

"Why are we here again?" he asked. Okay, so maybe he was a _little_ defensive.

"Because he's our expert," replied the sheriff. "He knows better than half of what that place knows. And his wife is in there."

Well that changed the picture a little. So did the guilty flinch from Argent at the reminder that his wife was there. Blair gaped at the man. "You knew she was in there?"

"The code said she had to die after she was bit. Except it didn't take when she tried it. She just healed," said Chris. There was obvious pain in the man's voice remembering whatever had happened. "And I couldn't do it. So we hid her from my family there. At the sanctuary."

It didn't make sense. Blair frowned and looked between the two. "If she's there voluntarily then why does Stiles think she's going to kill him?"

"Oh my god," muttered Chris. The man started to pace his living room, scrubbing at his face with his hands like he needed to wake up. The sheriff crossed his arms and seemed to be waiting for Chris to answer. It was only when the hunter made it quite obvious that he wouldn't that he said anything.

"Stiles thinks he killed Allison. You wanted a trigger for this sentinel stuff, it's that," said Stiles' dad. "The Nogitsune that crawled in his head controlled the Oni that killed Allison. So not only was he hurt, he thinks he hurt his friends. He tried to protect them and it kept backfiring."

"All he has to do is keep his mouth shut then," said Chris. He looked to Blair. "You talk to him there? You're what, a teacher or something-"

"Guide," Blair interrupted.

Chris shrugged it off. "Fine. Then tell him not to say anything to Victoria about it. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"You're not listening," said Blair, frustrated. "I can't get in there now. Not until things settle down. And we can't let an eighteen year old kid just get himself killed in that place!"

Chris shook his head. "He'll learn."

"Are you serious-"

"Chris," the sheriff interrupted. "If he's right? If Victoria's been in there with Talia Hale for all this time? It's been nearly a year. If she survived this long, she has to have better control than even Scott by now. You could get her out."

"What? And bring her back here?" replied Chris, angry. "You know better than I do, this is the first place they'll look."

"So then we figure out something to keep them away," said Blair quickly. "I've got two years worth of dirt on these guys, okay? With the right piece of information held over their heads, Beacon Hills becomes more trouble than it's worth."

"What information?" asked the hunter.

Blair stalled out. "Well that part I don't know yet but with a little research we can be all over it."

He lost his audience then, the sheriff looking so disappointed it was painful. He tried again.

"Look, I know it's a long shot but at this point? What do you have to lose by considering it," said Blair. He waved from the sheriff to the hunter then. "Both of you. Your families aren't here. They're up there, locked in a box. How the hell can you handle leaving them to that?"

The two looked from Blair to each other. Finally, Chris Argent seemed to cave.

"Fine. We can discuss it," he said. "But I'm not promising anything."

 

***

 

Whatever Stiles had expected from Derek, it wasn't stillness. He had thought about it the day before. One of the mental distractions in the dungeon of a cell block had been Derek's reactions to meeting back up with his mom. He couldn't really place what Derek's would have been. He more or less figured tears would be involved, because when Derek broke, he _broke_. But it didn't sit well with Stiles because his own mom kept jumping to mind and shoving aside his efforts to think about the Hales. Stiles knew better what _he_ would do if he was in Derek's shoes than he knew what to expect from Derek just then. Stiles would have been off the cot and breaking through a mountain ash barrier to give his mom a hug; but Derek just sat and stared. Stiles tried to pretend he was invisible and hung back a little closer to the wall.

Outside the cell, Talia glanced over at Jim and he casually stepped over to drag his shoe through the ash. The woman let herself in the cell and Derek still hadn't moved. It made Stiles itchy to think about; entire seconds had passed and Derek was silent, watching his _mom_ like an enemy instead of his mom. He just sat at the edge of the bed, leaned on his knees like he was perfectly comfortable and unconcerned. Talia crouched in front of him and he flinched when she raised a hand to fold over his; Derek _really_ didn't like to be touched.

"It's okay, Derek," said Talia. "You're not seeing things this time. I'm not a ghost."

"You could be." There was a harder edge to Derek's voice than Stiles expected. The slight change in his scent said he was angry; Stiles knew what that one smelled like. He sat up to stop hiding behind his knees against the wall, his legs crossed so that his shin pressed against Derek's hip. His heart-rate settled. But he was still anxious and angry.

"Yes, in this place especially. But I assure you, I'm not," said Talia. She didn't waver under the hard stare.

"You didn't say anything before. I went looking for you months ago and you didn't say anything about this place," said Derek. "I thought you were _dead_."

That one made no sense at all to Stiles and he stuck a mental pin in it because damned if he wasn’t going to corner Derek on the guy talking to his dead family members and being okay with it. That was some banshee-level stuff and if Derek had his own special set of powers then they needed to get on the same page, pronto. Talia, however, didn’t seem surprised by the announcement at all.

"To the world outside this place, I am dead," said Talia. "And while we could talk that once, it was dangerous for you to dreamwalk in the first place. I didn't want you doing it again. Not for me."

"That's up to me. Not you."

"And I told you then, Peter is dangerous. I didn't want you trusting him if he's all you had at home."

Derek shook his head. "He's not."

"Yes, I see that now," said Talia. Her gaze skipped briefly to Stiles and he managed - mostly - to hide how much of an _idiot_ he felt like. He couldn't read minds; he had never realized how much Derek really depended on him and Scott. He knew how much the guy asked of them, but that was nothing compared to needing them as a counterbalance to Peter Hale. Stiles' fingers idly twisted in the back of Derek's shirt and Derek sat up a little, leaning into the gesture. Stiles didn't bother moving. Derek kept his attention on his mom, the woman still crouched between them and Jim, looking up at Derek rather than down on him.

"You left us. Laura died. Cora didn't even remember me-"

"She would remember me half as well, Derek," said Talia. "She was young. That wasn't the first time I had to leave you but it needed to be the last. It is better that I be allowed to stay dead than put you both through this. I didn't tell you because there was nothing you could do. I didn't want you here."

Derek huffed annoyance at that. "But you tried to keep _Stiles_. Was it to keep him here or him from me?"

Talia grinned, wry and amused at the question. "That is a complicated matter, isn't it? But you have no idea just how far it goes. Suffice it to say, the boy is dangerous without an alpha. And I knew _that_ wasn't you. I want him nowhere near Peter."

"That's stupid," muttered Stiles. "Peter isn't an alpha. Scott is."

"Scott?"

"Yeah, Scott. True Alpha Scott McCall," said Stiles. Derek just barely refrained from rolling his eyes but he nodded his head.

"Peter bit him last year."

"That was _Peter_?" asked Victoria from the door. "We were certain it was Derek."

It was rather annoying sometimes how closely Scott aligned with the hunters and the reminder made Stiles sigh up at the bunk just above his head. Talia looked away to confirm with Victoria before her attention went back to Derek. "Either way, the spark came from a Hale source. Peter can get his claws on it. Now he can't. And there are certainly worse things."

Stiles was so confused and sensing Derek's tension only fed his own. "Worse things than _prison_?" he asked, angry. "I didn't do anything. This has nothing to do with me."

The woman currently frustrating and confusing him and Derek both just shook her head at them, calm. "It has to do with you. Because while you may be like Jim, like your father, you're also very much like your mother. Which makes you a problem around someone like my brother. You're safer here. So is everyone else."

"I can't actually tell you how much I don't care about everyone else," Stiles cut in. "I can figure this sentinel stuff out. I want to go _home_. I want _out_. Don't tell me I'm better off here."

Talia crouched in her own space, arms on her knees in a casual, comfortable stance, but her tone meant business. "If you want to go home, you will need the pack. Because if you get there without one, you become a target. The Nogitsune Derek was afraid of before was only the beginning."

"I am _not_ the Nogitsune. I can't do what it did-"

"No, you are the tool that it used," said Talia. "You _can_ do whatever it did because it used you to do it. You just have to learn to contain it. And until you do, anyone who could control it for you makes you dangerous."

Stiles stared at her, expression blank from pure confusion. Talia shook her head and stood up. "Eat your breakfast. Then, when you are ready to listen, come find us and we'll talk."

"There's nothing to talk about. Except _leaving_. That is a conversation I want to have," said Stiles. At the door, Victoria glared in at him as Talia slipped by her.

"That is a conversation a lot of people here are looking to have, but it's still _suicide_. Don't go expecting to move mountains when you don't even know the lay of the land yet," she said. And then she and Talia walked away as silently as they showed up. It was actually a relief. Stiles slumped forward again and set his forehead to the back of Derek’s shoulder. The guy’s mom being alive was supposed to be a good thing, it wasn’t supposed to be so stressful.

But then again. They were in werewolf jail. Everything was wrong anyway.

 

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

The grand escape plan hadn't even been thought up yet and already it had hit a bump in the road. Stiles seemed to be the only one willing to find the road at all. It was frustrating. But Derek didn't want to talk to his mom yet. Stiles couldn't really blame him for that. And they obviously had nothing but time on their hands so whenever the subject did eventually come up, Stiles would _pounce_. He was ready for it.

But Talia had confused him. He couldn't ask Derek for an explanation, either, when Derek was still very obviously mad at his mom. Asking Jim about Hale business would be about as productive as talking to the walls; he wasn't pack, and he and Talia had a grudging but healthy respect for each other and that seemed to be all.

But what the hell did Talia mean by that bull that anyone with a Hale spark could control _Stiles_? And what did that have to do with his mom? Stiles was certain his life hated him.

The mystery ate at his brain all day. He stayed behind the ash line in the cell, stewing on it, while Derek and Jim went to look for a new place for Derek and Stiles to stay. If he was smart, he would have just gone with them, but he knew well enough he would have spent the whole time trying to ask Derek about it and the guy had made it very clear he wasn't up for dealing with his mom yet. The better waste of time was the book Miranda had left for him, Blair's dissertation since she wouldn't let him work with Blair. Maybe somehow there was a clue in the man's old research. Stiles was going to go crazy stuck in this place long term, he realized.

Jim and Derek weren't back by dinner. How hard could it really be to find an unclaimed cell on the block, anyway? Talia had literally locked him up in a burned out block that was totally empty so the sanctuary had plenty of space to go around. Stiles figured maybe they were waiting for him at the cafeteria and reluctantly made his way out. There wasn't as much of a crowd since there hadn't been a lockdown recently but Stiles was careful to only venture out into the hall when there was no one around. He didn't want to deal with fights. He had to find himself a bat before he would be comfortable taking on werewolves in enclosed spaces. Derek had volunteered for that job anyway, too.

Stiles was very careful seeking out Derek in the crowded cafeteria. No zone outs before dinner. And definitely no zone outs without back-up. He was better at knowing when they were coming now, he felt the weird buzz in his brain and noticed the fade across his senses as they spiked in and out. He was getting better with the whole thing anyway. There were still a lot of noises and smells and light in the cafeteria, bodies lined up in chaotic queues rather than orderly; it was overwhelming. Stiles had gotten used to hiding behind Derek and he realized he needed more practice away from him. The magic bullet approach was going to spoil him.

The realization distracted and he didn't notice the people nearby until someone crowded into him, knocked him from the line. That wasn't good. He struggled to keep his balance and braced himself on a doorway he had been shoved into. When he got his balance and his focus back he looked to see who had pushed him, near angry enough at it to give them the fight they were angling for.

"Oh, shit-" Stiles aimed instead for putting a little more distance between them when he recognized Myers sneering at him. The line filled back in as Stiles dropped back and Meyers walked after him. He was in a hallway that went to another cell block, there were thankfully no stairs to trip on, but there was no way out other than through Meyers. Another werewolf - _claws were a big clue_ \- moved into the hall trailing Meyers and Stiles knew he was in trouble. It was the wolf who had picked the fight with Derek the day before. The one Stiles had flattened with a basketball to the face.

He carefully sorted out the noises in the hall from the echoes off the walls and found, hidden away in cells not far off, the tell-tale heartbeats of the others Derek and Jim had taken on. _Of course_ they were friends. That only made sense. And Stiles had picked a fight with all of them days earlier when he had fought back and stalled long enough for the cavalry to arrive and protect him at the grove in the yard.

There were no trees in a cell block deserted for dinner break. No branches for him to grab as an impromptu bat. There was a line of people between Stiles and help, strangers who didn't know him, people talking and swearing and stinking up the place, distracting his focus. They were a barrier. Stiles could either keep running and get further away, isolate himself like Meyers and his friends wanted, or he could get his back to a wall to pretend he could fight werewolf claws and teeth. At least the wall couldn't surprise him.

"This is a really stupid idea," Stiles warned. He leaned against the wall and tried to keep both ends of the long hall in view. He had two approaching from his left and expected two more to give up the game of hide and seek from the right at any moment. "I'm with the Hale pack. You don't wanna start a fight with them."

"That's why we're finishing business with you," said Meyers. "And nobody invited the Hales."

The pair approached slowly and it was hard to keep still; every instinct said to run, but there was nowhere Stiles could run to. The cell block came to a dead end at another double-walled security room just like at the end of Ellison's ward, and those rooms only opened up during lockdowns.

"I'm not running," Stiles said. "So if that was the objective here, you lost."

Meyers smiled like a creeper, shrugged the challenge off. "Not quite as much entertainment value. But no, it wasn't the _objective_."

Their friends snuck out of empty cells further down and walked toward them. It was going to be a regular party and Stiles definitely didn't want the invite. He could hear them, he could smell them, and he had all the information he needed to know he did not want them near him. But what the hell was he supposed to do against four werewolves locked up in werewolf jail? He knew well enough they could hear his heart jack-hammering away at his throat at this point, they could see he was afraid to do so much as even breathe. They could smell it, too. Stiles was easy prey on his own when all he had to work with was a broken arm in a cast. And they knew it.

Without claws or teeth, Stiles had limited options. He had to fight close. So he let Meyers get in close enough that the man caught his shoulder, like he wanted to push him away from the wall. Stiles moved, but not where he was told to. He made a fist around the plastic, molded cast on his arm and used that for force as he shoved a punch into Meyers' gut. He had braced for pain in his arm when he did it but there wasn't any. The pain was in his hand, in the bite of the plastic cast across his palm and the knuckles that had just punched a werewolf's stupid abs.

It was like his arm was healed already, the cast was just _in the way_.

A lot of good it did him when seconds later a werewolf was hitting back. He was stronger and faster and _holy hell_ claws hurt when they shredded flesh. The cast on his arm made a good shield but claws still cut skin through the pattern. Stiles fought with punches and kicks and he tried to notch the dials in his mind, tried to control what he could see and hear and taste. He didn't need to feel the blood he was losing and notched that one way down. He didn't need to focus on pain either, because he was in a whole new world of it, so he called pain a sixth sense and added in the dial just to turn it down. Somehow it even worked.

With that little boost of help, he wrenched his arm free of the man holding him back and started relying on the cast as a club; it didn't have the range of a bat but he could rack up the damage points. There wasn't a lot of grace to it, but it worked until the four men managed to drag him away from the wall. Stiles lost a little confidence when he lost that bit of ground, and he started to _panic_ when they dragged him to a cell. Panic was bad. Panic brought on the white-outs.

Stiles caught the bars of the open cell gate in an effort to stay out of it. Meyers just slammed his head into the bars then. One of his friends caught Stiles' arms and dragged them through the grate, using the bars to help pin him. His head hurt, his _everything_ hurt, despite turning down the new pain dial, but Stiles was very, very aware that it was going to get worse.

Drawing on the last reserves of energy he could find, Stiles shoved at the man who held his arms, enough to get a little room to move. He grabbed the gate and tried to push away from it, surprising the men at his back punching at his ribs. And then something happened that surprised even Stiles: the gate, silver coated as it was, got hot. It glowed and burned and yet Stiles didn't feel pain from it. It took pain away where it touched, and he got a boost, like a shot of caffeine or something stronger.

Meyers and his men backed off and Stiles shoved away from the gate entirely. Then he realized the gate stopped glowing. But his hands hadn't. His hold on the bars had charged the gate. Now white light lit up his palms, pulsed like a heartbeat up his arms in tiny lines. It was better than the blood that had been smeared on them seconds earlier. Stiles stared at his hands and then up at Meyers and the other man he now had all but cornered in the cell. The two in the hall ran away, everything about them screaming they were scared. Stiles was too; he didn't know what he had managed to do, but he did his best not to advertise that.

Out of breath, tired and running on exhaustion and adrenaline only, he glared at the two men, made certain they saw the energy moving in sparks along his hands.

"Get out," he told them, voice somehow stronger than he felt capable of pulling off. But it worked. The second he stepped aside, out of the way of the door, his two attackers ran like the hounds of hell were chasing their lycanthrope asses.

Not even caring where he was, whether the cell was claimed by anyone or not, Stiles slumped against the wall in the corner behind the bunks and sank to the floor. His hands faded back to normal as they rested on his knees, the blood becoming visible again. He was scared now. Terrified was probably the most accurate word for it. He let the dials slip as the panic took over. Derek was somewhere in the huge building and Stiles tried listening for him, even though he knew what would happen. He needed to know at least Derek was okay. He was pretty sure he found him, too. The heartbeat was too fast and getting louder, so Derek was getting closer.

The white-out followed the now familiar sound.

 

***

 

For the first time in a week, Stiles brought himself out of the zone. He startled back to reality and couldn't hear anything, couldn't tell he was leaning against cold brick, his vision was blurred and washed with a layer of white. Trying to get his bearings was only possible because he recognized the space he had crawled in to. But he could tell he hadn't been under very long. He was still alone and relieved that he hadn't been attacked while he was out.

Seconds later, fuzzy movement caught his attention to the door of the cell. He recognized the shape of a human running through but that was all the detail he could pick up. Stiles shoved himself into the corner, arms up to defend himself, but there was no attack. He looked out past his pitiful shield and tried to focus, finally seeing Derek crouched in the narrow space between the sink and the bunk that Stiles had wedged himself into to hide. He could tell Derek was talking to him but he couldn't hear him. It didn't matter, anyway; it was Derek and Derek was safe.

He let Derek help him up and that was as far as he really got before he tucked aching arms across his chest and leaned on Derek. Whatever it was about Derek that normally made everything balance out didn't kick in this time. He could feel Derek catch his arms, barely, and assumed the guy was talking to him, but he still could only barely see. It wasn't that anything was consciously muted. He just couldn't process anything. Pain and blankness.

Stiles would have been fine hiding but Derek and Talia weren't going to let him. Derek let him lean on him but he still kept trying to get his attention, and Talia crowded Derek's shoulder. He finally tried to voice what was wrong and wasn't sure he was loud enough, but he reminded himself he was dealing with werewolves and let the effort stand. They left him alone for a minute then, Derek finally wrapping his arms around him as a shield instead of pawing at him to look for injuries. Stiles just closed his eyes and tried to let Derek hold him up.

They didn't seem as content as Stiles was to wait out the sensory problem, which was probably a testament to how messed up he was after the last week of ups and downs. When Derek made him move, Stiles reluctantly followed. He was very careful about moving and stayed close to Derek because he only saw blurred white-tinted shapes. He was surrounded by people as they left but Derek and Talia were the only people he could focus on enough to recognize.

It wasn't until they got outside that Stiles' senses started coming back online. He followed them out into the early evening and actually felt cold, damp air. He smelled the pine tree and the redwood when they got him to the grove in the middle of the yard. Night vision kicked in and drove back the white haze, letting him see again. Hearing came last and by then he had been sat down at the base of a tree and sprawled gingerly in Derek's space. He caught Derek's hand and slipped his fingers in between.

"Claws," he said, cautious and quiet because he didn't trust his hearing to behave. "Need claws here."

Derek didn't seem to agree because he folded their fingers together and wrapped his arms carefully around Stiles again. Right there in front of everybody, with Talia and Jim and Victoria staring at them. Jim stepped closer then and crouched at their feet in Stiles' easy line of sight.

"You okay, chief?" he asked. Blessedly quiet. The man _knew_. Stiles gave him a thumbs-up.

"Found the pain dial," he said. "Got it muted."

"Bring it back up," said Jim. "You need to let somebody look you over. Make sure nothing's broken."

Stiles shook his head. "My arm healed. Nothing broken."

Talia moved to Derek's side, reaching across her son to hold her hand out to Stiles. "Let me see your arm then."

He obliged, moving carefully. He was exhausted. He hurt everywhere. But he was getting better. The cast was sliced clean through in a few places, bent and beat up, and just as bloody. Talia looked him over.

"The break healed," she confirmed. "This should come off."

Stiles pulled his hand back. "It's kind of useful."

It was on the tip of everyone's tongue to ask what happened, but none of them would risk it. Stiles snuffed, annoyed and frustrated in equal parts.

"I lost a fight. And then I won it, on my own, so just let me heal up," he said. He added a little volume trying to make people believe him. "I don't know what happened but whatever it was, it worked, my arm healed, so I'll be fine."

"Fine, you don't know what happened," said Victoria. "But maybe _we_ do. So tell us what happened."

"I chased them off."

"Who?" said Derek and Jim, even as Talia and Victoria asked, " _How_?"

The _who_ didn't matter because Stiles figured he could avoid them easily enough now that he wasn't just some falsely-accused-supernatural sitting in werewolf jail. He had something they were afraid of. He was too. But they didn't have to know that part. Still, he told them what he had done. It wasn't easy describing what he had seen and felt. He had basically blinded himself; that was embarrassing even if he had the first clue how he had done it.

He was glad he had his back to Derek because it was bad enough feeling his heartbeat speed up as he listened. Stiles didn't want to know what Derek thought about it. He was amazed the guy still held their hands trapped together; his hands could light up like a Christmas tree and heat up prison bars, and Derek still rubbed a careful thumb along Stiles' bruised palm. Stiles had a good daze going because of it.

To his further surprise, Talia seemed to expect it. "I told you. You're still your mother's son. Your father's gifts explain some things but that? _That_ was your mother's."

"I just _blinded_ myself," muttered Stiles. He was not feeling very _gifted_ just then.

"And thankfully that kind of self defense won't be necessary all that often," said Talia. "You will learn to control it when you need to."

"Not right now," said Stiles. Talia reached over to pat his knee.

"No. Not right now. But right now, just know your mother learned. You will too."

"What-"

"Give him a few hours to heal," said Talia, interrupting Derek's question. "We'll stay out here tonight. When he's gotten some energy back, I'll show you what this is."

"It was just a stupid fight," said Stiles. A stupid fight with four werewolves. Four very pissy werewolves.

"And you _lost_ ," said Talia. "Heal first. Talk later."

Stiles didn't argue that time and shrugged it off. If she was going to tell him to take a nap on Derek, outside, surrounded and protected by her pack, he would gladly listen. Just until he felt a little less like he had been through a meat grinder.

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

The confusing thing was that, after a few hours nap, Stiles did feel better. He moved like an old man and was still covered in blood and bruises, but he felt better. And the bruises weren't as bad as they should have been. There was an argument over what to do about him; Derek wanted to send him to the medbay for help, since that was what the place was for, but Talia and Jim both refused. The closest they could come to middle ground was a shower and a field medic, a former nurse who tended to look after the sanctuary yard residents who didn't heal.

Stiles didn't like either idea. He had seen the showers. It was a small room with wall faucets, an open space attached to the bathroom with no doors to lock, and it didn't take a whole lot of real-world experience to tell him why that was a bad idea when there were werewolves that wanted him dead. But the medbay was a worse idea because he wasn't sure they would let him leave when they found out his broken arm had healed in a week. Stiles had broken bones before and they never healed that fast. This was something else. If he didn't know what to do with it yet, he was sure Warden Thompson would love to find out. The medbay was not an option.

New clothes were scrounged up and Stiles limped off to the showers. He had a full guard team now, with Derek and Jim and three members of Talia's pack. That was just weird, but it was better than waiting for a fight. Derek hovered and checked every scratch, as much as he was allowed anyway. Stiles felt about as competent as a baby elephant then, which was thoroughly frustrating, so he didn't _want_ people helping and fussing. He and Derek had a big difference in opinion on that.

"If you need help then I can help," said Derek, his frustration obvious in his tone. Stiles gingerly shrugged his shirt over his head, shoved it at Derek since the man wanted to help.

"Maybe I don't _need_ help, think of that?" Stiles replied, cranky. The pain-dial trick wasn't working great. And there was no dial for simple paranoia. And paranoia wasn't actually _simple_.

"Maybe I still know when you're _lying_ ," said Derek. Stiles got snappish, out of stress more than actual anger.

"Yeah? But you don't know what it’s like to be the easy target that can't take care of himself," he said. "So maybe you can _back off_."

"Why? So you can spend twice as long and end up hurt worse for all the extra effort?"

"No, so I can say I can still do something as stupid as take care of myself without needing somebody to save me."

The pair stared each other down in the crackly, spastic light of the shower room. Both of them were mad, just for very different reasons.

"I didn't come up here to save you. It's not actually possible here, Stiles. We were all but dead the second we walked in," said Derek. "I'm not stupid."

That was the most irritating thing Stiles had ever actually heard. "Then why did you _do something_ so stupid?"

"Because there's a difference between saving somebody and helping them. That's pack. That's what it's for," said Derek. "Because I've figured out that sometimes just because you can do something by yourself doesn't mean you have to. Or that you should."

"I've been able to bathe myself since I was a kid," said Stiles. "I think I've got that one handled. It's not a pack-building exercise."

"That's why the pack stayed at the _door_ ," returned Derek. It was suddenly very obvious that he wasn't at the door. And he looked at Stiles like he was waiting to be told which way to go. "So if you're going to hurt yourself then I'll go wait with them. But if I can help then I will if you want."

Stiles had fallen in with all things Hale-pack at the end of the last school year. He didn't really question it, he just always found himself on the same side and usually kicked at Scott until he came along too. Now Derek was doing the same thing, in a way; his mom was there, his mom was alpha of her own pack still, and he just assumed Stiles was still with him. The pack was at the door to protect their own. To protect Stiles. It wasn't really conditional, they would help him whether he wanted it or not.

The only thing Stiles had to sort out was if he could let somebody - _Derek_ \- take care of him or not. And maybe he was right and they were different things, whether someone helped him or someone saved him from something he couldn't do. It didn't track with his head; Stiles was used to cleaning up after himself, cleaning up after his dad and Scott and everybody else. He had even been helping Scott with Malia, taking care of her more than anything else. It sucked. He should have been able to take care of himself in a fight but he still lost. He always lost with the werewolves. It was just the shitty part about being human; some humans were stronger, faster, meaner. He lost to the Nogitsune too. The human side _lost_. The human side needed help. Maybe that was Derek's point.

Stiles nodded then. "Okay."

Almost instantly, a switch was flipped and the help came in a flood of questions. Derek quizzed him on what hurt and where and checked him over more directly instead of sneaking. He made sure the cuts on Stiles' back and sides weren't too deep, weren't going to bleed out again if he took a shower. Then, when he was satisfied that the hours-old injuries were healing, he got out of the way so Stiles could actually take the shower he walked into the room for. He just wasn't expecting Stiles, still half dressed in bloodied, shredded clothes, to drag him along as a leaning post under the water. Derek got soaked but he didn't do much more than grumble about it. He scrubbed at Stiles' hair as though they had shampoo, the only unclawed-zone he could massage to help Stiles keep the noise and the cold and the pain dials all on low for a little while. And it definitely worked.

 

***

 

The sheriff wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea, but at a little prying and wheedling, he handed Blair the keys. The keychain had a rather unique tag and Blair raised an eyebrow.

"This is the key to Derek's place?" he asked. Sheriff Stilinski nodded.

"One of them is, anyway. At least one goes to Scott's place, I'm pretty sure one gets him through the lobby doors at the station, and I have my suspicions there's a key to the school in the mix too. _And_ his car and locker and everything," he said. It was equal parts a curse as it was permission. Basically, the message Blair got was that if Blair found the right key, he was a better man than Stiles' father and the fates decreed him a worthy house-guest of the missing Hale. Blair held the keychain lanyard and inspected the sharpie-marker scrawl that looked like it said " _Stiles licked these first_ " over the blue and white checkerboard strap.

It wasn't that Blair was a stupid man but the burning questions that hit his brain, _man_ , those things burned until he asked them. He looked to the sheriff, confusion obvious. "So your kid has a key to the man's apartment and you still don't think-"

"Hey. My kid's a pain in the ass delinquent when it comes to the weird stuff. But I trust him to tell me the stuff I oughta know," said the sheriff.

"Maybe he thinks you don't want to know," said Blair. "Or that you do already."

The sheriff shrugged it off. "Like I said, he's got a key to the station house on that thing, and the school. Not to mention Scott's place," he said. He flicked at the keys to rattle them as they dangled from Blair's hand. "Given the full context, I'm pretty sure that's _not_ his bootycall hall-pass."

Blair kept quiet about it after that. But the fact that Stiles had the key to Derek's apartment spoke volumes to him all by itself. Especially after watching the pair interact; there were some cultural norms that were universal and werewolves were still human.

So it was that, a half hour later, Blair let himself into a darkened, empty apartment. Derek Hale didn't have much in the way of furniture or personal items, just a lot of space around a couch and a bed and some tables. Finding the light switch was a bit of a chore. The wifi password was actually comparatively easy. Camped out on the couch a little later, Blair just shook his head. The only local signal was labeled " _ThePasswordIsNotAllison_ " and when he tried "Allison" it denied him. So he tried "Stiles" and was connected through.

"Okay, Derek, I'm going to do you a favor and assume you didn't set that one up," Blair muttered at the laptop screen. He knew who Allison was now so it seemed like a stretch that the hunter's late daughter would be on Derek's radar, let alone his wifi. Stiles however most definitely was. Blair tucked into his research once again mentally kicking himself for letting Derek do what Blair would have done for Jim if anyone had given him half a chance.

"Derek's not home right now," a voice came from the stairs, startling Blair so badly he nearly dropped his laptop. He turned to look and saw a man in a v-neck t-shirt sitting on the steps like he owned the place - for all Blair knew, he probably did - and he looked like he had been there awhile. Blair wasn't sure how to handle this particular scenario; he had permission to be there after all. He waved vaguely toward his computer, tried his best friendly smile.

"Oh, yeah, I know Derek's not here. I was just commenting on his wifi password," Blair said. The man on the stairs tilted his head, for all the world like a curious puppy, as he stood up then to walk closer.

"You know his wifi password?"

In answer, Blair held up the keys on the lanyard. Very definitely Stiles' keys. "Yeah. I know the both of them. Well, I mean both Derek and Stiles. Not the password- my name's Blair and- well, I'm sorry, I didn't know Derek lived with someone-"

Instinct was a big thing with Blair; he had learned to listen to it and trusted it over the years. And right now he had the very clear urge to leave. He stood up as he folded up his laptop but the man was already blocking his easy escape route to the door. Blair tried to recover for it with an offer of a handshake. The man seemed to sniff and pretended not to notice. Oh yeah, he was great at avoiding the awkward situations.

"My nephew didn't set up that password. I did it for him," the man said. Nephew meant uncle, uncle meant Peter Hale, and Blair had heard just enough to know that didn't make him wrong about the urge to leave. Peter standing so casually blocking the path to the door didn't help. "He's not the most technologically inclined. And I was sure I knew his friends. So I must ask, how do you know Derek so well that you would have the keys to his home and his wifi password?"

Blair pocketed said keys before the man got the urge to try taking them. He did not seem very happy to have visitors. "He was staying up in Washington with me. We were working on- uh. A project."

"I see," said Peter. He did the same thing Derek did, talked slow to read people. Derek didn't look like he was going to eat anyone for not passing the test. Even when Peter smiled, he looked dangerous, in contrast to Derek, who looked significantly less dangerous around Stiles anyway.

"I'm not sure why you're making yourself at home here if Derek is in Washington," said Peter.

"That's a long and complicated story," said Blair. "Derek didn't tell you where he was going, did he?"

"No. He texted me to check on the plants and left town," said Peter. There were no plants in the loft apartment but Blair didn't exactly feel like pointing that out.

"Well, what do you know about Stiles?" he asked instead.

"That he's a trouble-prone spazz who refuses on a daily basis to live up to his potential, and accordingly was picked up by the Feds. Which I find incredibly ironic and personally satisfying, but has no bearing whatsoever on your presence in my nephew's home," said Peter.

Blair held up the keys again, quick with the easy defense. "These are Stiles' keys. He's locked up by the Feds, as you said, and Derek tried to break him out so they kept him too."

Peter broke into a scowl that, while not exactly aimed at Blair, was dangerous enough to the messenger. Blair backed off and casually held up his hands, trying to keep himself calm more than placate an obviously unhappy werewolf.

"I came down here looking for help getting them out," he said, cautious. He needed to tell the guy something and knew better than to lie. "And Stiles' dad told me to crash here while we figure something out. Because it's not exactly easy to line up the lawyers to tackle that project-"

"This is not a project for lawyers," said Peter, annoyed. He looked like he wanted to claw something, his normal hands held rounded and fingers splayed wide. Blair held his laptop like a shield, as subtle as he could be about it.

"Look, Peter - it is Peter, right?" Blair trailed off, looking for confirmation before he said something around someone who might think he was beyond stupid. Peter tilted his head just slightly, the surprise fleeting but there. Confirmation enough. "Great. So here's the thing, Peter. We're gonna try to get them out. And we aren't exactly sure of the legalities yet, you know? So it's going to be a while..."

That caught the man's interest and the immediate danger seemed to pass, if Peter's face was anything that could be remotely trusted.

"So you're telling me that you're staying here until we figure out how to break my nephew out of a federal penitentiary designed to contain-"

"Werewolves, yes!" Blair figured one of them had better break the code-talk before they went around in circles that would get the non-werewolf killed. It was a relief. "And it's not just your nephew. Stiles said Derek's mom is in there too."

The look on Peter's face then was unreadable, the micro expressions a blended mix of surprise and anger and relief and fear too convoluted for Blair to sort out.

"Talia?" Peter asked. Blair nodded, his poor laptop at the ready to become a shield again. "Talia Hale. My sister's not dead?"

"Not according to Stiles," said Blair. "So we're going to get them all out if possible. And we would like to do it right. Which means we're not in a hurry, exactly, and Derek's place is obviously going to be without an occupant in the meantime. Two birds, one stone."

It didn't look like Peter quite agreed with the birds and the stones rationale.

"Who did you go to for help on this?" Peter asked. Blair told him about the sheriff and was a little more careful about mentioning the hunter. Peter seemed frustrated but he paced away, giving Blair breathing space. For a long moment, the only sound in the apartment was Peter's muttering to himself and the slight echo of his boots as he walked the floor. Then he stopped. He schooled his features into a smile that was probably completely natural but nonetheless... Creepy. Blair blinked at him.

"Alright," said Peter. "I'll help. You can stay here _if_ I am included in whatever the three of you scheme up."

Thankfully Blair was used to dealing with hard-heads and walking ego-trips. He could sell his soul if it meant not having to deal with this particular devil on his own ever again. He bobbed his head politely.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he said. “As long as you don’t start shit with Chris Argent because of the whole hunter thing...”

Peter stopped his pacing and stared back at him, obviously insulted. “I don’t _start shit_. I finish it.”

That point Blair had no problems believing. He just wanted the man to hurry up and leave, to go _finish it_ somewhere else.

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to make sure everybody remembers... this is an AU... 
> 
> kinda like Whose Line Is It Anyway, where _Everything's Made Up_ and the points don't matter. :) 
> 
> (Except certain points do matter here... and now they're adding up...) 
> 
> ______________________________

The pack babysitters didn't hassle Stiles for making them hang around a bathroom door for who knew how long. He had makeshift bandages on his arms and extra padding around his ribs under the borrowed shirt so he didn't smell like blood quite as badly. It wasn't everywhere and it was covered up. Stiles had talked himself into ditching the cast because the fight had broken pieces off the plastic and sharp edges kept digging into his arm which defeated every purpose of keeping it at all. Bonus: Derek helped him pry it free and that was an interesting experience.

So, banged up but in one piece, he made his way back to Talia's pack's corner of their tiny world, trailing the others rather than let them surround him. He didn't know them, pack or not, and he didn't want them at his back. At the grove he found his favorite tree and settled in between the roots. Derek looked affronted at the dismissal until Stiles dragged on him, making him sit in front as a perfect shield. If he wanted to be helpful so badly then he could stand in the line of fire, or sit there, anyway. Stiles leaned on the tree with his knees up and Derek leaned on him, fencing him in snug.

People gathered in little pockets around the grove and were good at disappearing in it, aside from their still-quite-loud whispered conversations that Stiles listened to without hesitation. Jim stood beside Stiles' tree, arms crossed and shoulder leaned into the bark as he looked around the dark. It was full dark now, the moon up and casting shadows that the werewolves complained about. It was like daylight to Stiles but he kept quiet about it. It was Derek who looked back to Jim and asked if he could see as clearly in the broken darkness as he could in the sun. Jim gave a slight shrug.

"Mostly, I'd say. Yeah. Messes with the depth perception but that's not really a problem here," he said. Derek nodded and stored the information away while Stiles barely paid attention to it. He already knew from Blair that his senses were sharper than Jim's. That knowledge paired with Talia Hale's bizarre warnings only made him worry that Blair had it wrong.

"What if that's not what this is? What if I actually belong here?" Stiles asked them. He gnawed at his thumb, slouched against the tree and tried not to fidget so he wouldn't annoy Derek. "I mean, if it's not what he says then the dials and the breathing tricks aren't gonna hold it back. Not for very long. I'm just gonna overload-"

"Except they work," said Derek. He turned his head to look back toward Stiles. "You're figuring it out, how to control it. That's not a trick, that's... Adapting."

"Exactly," said Jim. "And that's the thing with this stuff. Yeah, it hits out of nowhere, and yeah it sucks. But you adapt to it like anything else. You keep adapting, you get better at it."

"I'm not adapting," argued Stiles, quiet because he didn't exactly want to go painting a bigger target on his head than he already had. "It's got this whole extra thing now. And Blair didn't get to help us very much -"

"It's not on Blair. The guy knows what he's talking about, but he can't fix it for you," said Jim.

Stiles shrugged. "No, Derek does. And I get used to him fixing it and then I can't deal-"

" _Derek_ doesn't fix anything, chief," said Jim. Stiles was too confused to be able to tell if the man was amused or annoyed. Jim crouched beside them, raised a hand to gently knock his knuckles against Stiles' forehead. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that's all up here. That's all you. You've got it in your head that he's going to be your magic bullet and it works out."

"But he can pull me out of a zone," said Stiles. Jim nodded.

"Yeah, because you want him to. That's enough, that's it. _Your_ control of your senses is up to _you_. What control you _give to him_ is up to you," said Jim. He shrugged. "All Derek has to do is show up. You do the work yourself. He can help you with this thing, but he sure as hell can't save you from yourself."

Half-turned now, arm resting on Stiles' knee as he watched them, Derek stayed silent, attentive. Stiles was thoroughly flustered, mentally zigzagging between old assumptions and new ideas on how the world was supposed to work.

"But even the dissertation said a sentinel had a guide..." He mentally stalled. Derek was his guide. That wasn't some imaginary thing, not when he made everything work again. Even after the fight. Especially after the fight.

"The dissertation said the guide is a partner, somebody to watch our backs," said Jim. His lips quirked up in a grin, and for a split second Ellison talked with his hands, a brief wave, a shoulder shrug, fingers pointing. Just like Blair. "But here's the thing: a _guide_ can only lead the way. They can go with you, find the path, drag you kicking and screaming when they have to. But your own two feet still have to do the work of walking. They guide. _You_ hunt."

For some unfathomable reason, that made Derek smile. Smug, like he understood what Stiles was missing. Again. Stiles was not a fan of the role reversal; he liked being the one that confused people, not the other way around. But Derek's heartbeat got a little faster and his scent said he was way too damn happy under the general circumstances. The cocky grin on his face and the expectant rise of an eyebrow left Stiles determined to sort it out. It couldn't be too hard to sort out if Derek already had it, but Stiles kept the sarcasm to himself and tried to figure out what he was missing.

Stiles heard Jim ask if Derek had it handled before the man stood up again and left. Stiles was apparently quiet too long, staring at Derek's smug face.

And that's when it clicked. "Oh my god."

"What?" Derek asked. Stiles lifted the knee the guy leaned on just to disrupt his slouch, as close as he could get to kicking Derek and living through the experience.

"You. Stop laughing at me," he said.

"Don't have to. You like it," said Derek. And that was the whole reason Derek was there at all. The reason Derek could pull Stiles out of the zone. The reason he could find Derek in a crowd, why Derek calmed him down.

"No... I like you," he said, careful as he processed the truth of it out loud. "There is a difference between that and liking your sass."

"Is that so?" The eyebrows got back in the game and Stiles silently called himself a liar. He wasn't going to put himself out on any more of a limb for the smug jerk he apparently liked way too much for way too long considering the tenuous state of his sanity. And then Derek's arm slid a little lower, hugging his thighs as he pressed into Stiles' space to sneak another kiss. Yes, goddamnit, Stiles liked Derek's sass, and the guy totally _cheated_ at interrogation tactics and he really liked that part too.

When they came back to reality, remembering the entire pack not hardly out of earshot spread out in crannies and nooks around the tree grove, Derek still lounged against Stiles' knees and Stiles tried to hide in the tree roots with his hands in his pockets.

"You guys at least found you and me a place to stay, right?" he asked. Maybe he was a little too lost in his own head and the question came out wrong because he hadn't figured the question would make Derek do the thing where he had to fight not to laugh.

 

***

 

A little while later, Jim came back; Talia and Victoria were with him. It almost made Stiles sad. For all he wanted answers to the questions Talia kept dragging up, there was a part of him that was scared to know, that didn't want to know at all. Stiles just wanted to relax and not think for awhile, to stare at Derek until he showed off their new room and Stiles could get on with practicing not _zoning out_ when they _made out_. Because that was totally a thing they could do now and Stiles was certain they should be doing more of it. They just weren't going to do it in the trees, surrounded by pack. Derek's mom's pack. Derek's mom who knew way too much about Stiles as it was. Stiles came to the reluctant conclusion that Derek's mom was _evil_ and he hid, perfectly shameless, behind Derek rather than deal with whatever bad news she was going to hint at this time.

"Feeling better?" Talia asked. Derek, the traitor, looked back at Stiles rather than answer for him. Stiles shrugged and nodded.

"Still confused what all this has to do with my mom though," said Stiles. "Or what it even is in the first place."

Talia stepped carefully past Derek, nudged his leg with her boot in a hint for him to move over a bit. He turned enough to follow her but still kept mostly angled between them. She sat on one of the huge exposed tree roots Stiles had settled down between. It allowed her to be quieter, which Stiles appreciated.

"Years ago, the year before you were born, your father started having problems like you have been dealing with. Minor things by comparison, headaches that wouldn't stop, wore sunglasses indoors-"

"Wait," Stiles interrupted. "You don't know my dad."

"Yes, actually, I did. I was a forensics tech when he was still a deputy. We worked together. Your mother and I were already great friends before they were married," said Talia. "The year you were born I was working up here with Jim and Blair's department. I went back to Beacon Hills and your parents helped me with Cora for a while. It was before I had pulled the pack together and I had a hard time juggling three babies and finishing law school. Your parents were a godsend."

Stiles stared in open mouthed shock. Talia shook her head.

"You were too young to remember," she said. "And your father... Had too much trouble sorting out why he could see things, hear things, that everything in him said he shouldn't have been able to. And he has always had a hard time believing things, even those things directly in front of his face."

"Yeah but he doesn't have to. I mean, that's his _job_ ," said Stiles, slightly defensive and thoroughly homesick for his non-believing dad in their non-believing world with a side-order of werewolves.

Talia seemed sad and shook her head. "He couldn't believe he could be stronger than the rest of the force, Stiles. He thought he was going crazy. That was why I transferred to Cascade for a time. We had heard about Blair, but your father wouldn't go see him. So, based on what I learned from Blair and at the request of your mother, we figured out how to... _Rewind_ things for your dad. So he didn't remember what it was that brought his sentinel senses online, as Jim calls it. He dropped back to normal..."

Stiles was certain he hadn't heard that right. "You _what_?"

"I helped Claudia remove the memories that triggered the instinct that caused his senses to ramp up," said Talia. "It's a complicated process and not important-"

"Yeah, I know it," said Stiles, distracted. Peter had sent Scott and Lydia into his head the same way trying to kick out the Nogitsune. It wasn't his favorite experience in a lifetime of experiences, but if Talia could take away the chaos-induced senses with it, Stiles was totally onboard. The woman knocked the hope down with her very next words.

"The point is that he has no memory of going through what you have been. It worked for him. But because of your mother, because of what you got from her, we don't think the same thing will work for you," said Talia. "There's more than just your father's sentinel genetics. Claudia's line is... More than that. And the combination makes it dangerous to play with."

That was just pure frustration and Stiles reacted, anger clear in his voice as he spoke out. " _My mom_ was fine! Okay? Until _she died_ , she was fine. She was normal. If she _wasn't_ normal, she would have _lived_. So just stop-"

"Claudia was _poisoned_ , Stiles," Talia said, talking over him to make him listen. "It was a combination of rowen and white aconite. Someone intentionally tried to kill her. And the only way to protect you and your father from them was if she died. So she died."

For a moment, Stiles thought his heart stopped. He couldn't breathe. Who would want to kill his mom? His dad was just a deputy then, he wasn't anybody important in a small unimportant town, and his mom... She didn't even work! She _volunteered_ , she stayed home to keep Stiles' younger self from hyperactively burning down the house. There were thirteen churches in Beacon Hills and every one of them had a different religion and every one of them knew his mom because she helped. Everyone loved his mom. No one would _want_ to kill her.

"You're lying," he said. Flat out _lies_ , that's the only way he could make it make sense.

"No. She's not," said someone else, and Stiles realized distractedly that Victoria was still there, watching them from a few feet behind where Talia sat. "Gerard attacked your mother in an effort to get rid of the Hale pack. It was why Chris and I left town the last time. We couldn't... Get around what he had done to the code."

Stiles stared at her. He really couldn't breathe that time. How could someone casually admit to killing his mom, to his face, like they were talking about the fucking weather? If Derek hadn't been leaning on him, all but intentionally hanging on to his legs, Stiles probably would have tried to start something. Victoria was a hunter and she just admitted her family had killed his mom, and she knew about it. It was a confession of guilt. He saw red and he felt heat in his hands until Derek reached out and caught one of them, dragging him back from anger with fear; he didn't want to hurt Derek. Stiles stared at him, wide eyed. Derek just shook his head, stared back, his way of silently asking him not to lose it. It was enough and Stiles reluctantly tried to readjust around the anger. He glared over at Victoria then.

"If you killed my mom, I guess it's just _karma_ that whatever I got from her got Allison killed, huh? Works for me," he said, quiet but effective enough for a werewolf. Derek swore and moved to block even as Talia stood and held Victoria back.

"What the hell do you mean my daughter is dead?" Victoria demanded. She pressed around Talia's shoulder, the tree root between them an added deterrent.

"What the hell gave your _code_ the right to kill _my mom!_ " Stiles shot back. Derek kept him sitting down in the hollow of the tree, one hand wrapped around his wrist to keep the unknown new trick from showing up.

"Allison's _not_ dead!" He raised his voice to be certain they both heard him. "She's fine! She and Isaac left so the Argents and Calvaras don't go after her. _Chris supervised_ the whole thing. Allison is _fine_."

It felt like he was still in the fight suddenly, getting nailed in the gut by one blow after another, and this one had just come from Derek. Stiles stared at him, shocked and momentarily stuck. “She’s okay?”

Attention carefully divided between Victoria and Stiles, Derek managed a nod. “She’s fine. Chris sent Isaac with her.”

“Nobody could maybe have _told me_ -”

“ _No_... the idea is to keep the wrong people from thinking they’re _alive_. It’s better for _you_ and for her that you didn’t know, alright? So now we’re _here_ , now you _know_ , she’s fine,” said Derek. Stiles did kick at him then. It wasn’t _alright_. Derek seemed to deem Stiles the greater threat then and ignored Victoria in favor of trapping Stiles’ hands to make him stop kicking, maybe calm down. “I’m sorry, okay? We couldn’t tell you. Not until we knew it wouldn’t just send the hunters after the both of you chasing the nogitsune.”

It worked a little. Stiles calmed some. But it was more because he had already had the night from hell as far as he knew it and he was exhausted. A werewolf was still a werewolf and Stiles definitely wasn’t. It didn’t help that he lost another fight to another stupid werewolf - _stupid Derek freaking Hale_ \- and Stiles was heading into full-blown panic that had nothing to do with overloaded senses. The volume went up on everything, the bark of the tree digging into his back where he sat felt like knives cutting into his skin, even Derek’s hands wrapped in his caused a sensory input surge to the point of pain. The dials weren’t working, and Stiles was in this weird place between wanting to kick Derek’s ass into the next county and cling to his neck until things went normal again. He wasn’t strong enough to kick anything so he just hung on to Derek, tried to focus on his face as the guy tried to talk him down from the panic attack.

The problem was that he couldn’t hear what Derek said, only loud sounds of everything around them, of voices asking what was wrong, of the wind, the bats screeching - _was that a goddamn owl_ \- and just the general sound of _air_.

Then someone said his name. Their voice was almost familiar but he didn’t know it. The white washed her out.

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

After the planned hotel-space had been so easily invaded by a werewolf, and a non-friendly one at that, Blair relocated to the nearest coffee shop. In a tiny town like Beacon Hills, most places closed up by nine PM. There was a 24/7 Wal-Mart and a 24/7 donut shop. Blair took his chances with the donut shop's free wifi.

He was tired and blurry-eyed after very little sleep the night before, but he dug through page after page of public records. First things first on a prison break was to know the prison. Blair wanted maps, he wanted to know what the place was capable of. He wanted to know who worked there. He wanted to know who handled the security; maybe if they were lucky there was a little metal sign by the front driveway for Brinks or something and they had just never noticed.

Once again Blair was struck by how absolutely insane and impossible this idea was. It was, frankly, depressing. After two years fighting his way inside the system, that option was gone. With the sentinel research he had done while looking for Jim, Blair could have written another two books on the difference between The Real Thing( _tm_ ) and something supernatural. Human Sentinel had heightened senses and that was their only supernatural trait. Everything else he had seen lately didn't have the full range of senses, not to mention they were all shapeshifters and borrowed the enhanced coding from their animal hybrids.

Out of sheer frustration, Blair broke down. He upgraded his tea order to cheap, small-town donut shop coffee, and kept looking for a loophole.

“I’m sure there’s a joke somewhere here about cops and donut shops, but I’m the wrong Stilinski to find it,” came a voice from nearby. Blair looked up to see Sheriff Stilinski and his styrofoam to-go cup of coffee wandering toward him. He offered a distracted grin but then frowned at the sheriff. The guy was still in uniform.

“What are you doing at work still?” he asked. The sheriff shrugged.

“No reason to be at home. So I’m covering for one of my field guys tonight. His wife’s in labor, something like twelve hours at it so far, so I wasn’t gonna make Mike come in,” he said. He waved to the chair across from Blair in silent question and Blair quickly nodded for him to have a seat. Company would probably do them both good. “So you couldn’t figure out the wifi at Derek’s place or something?”

Blair laughed and choked trying not to get caught at it. He coughed and shook his head. “No, I met Derek’s uncle. Negotiating for my right to keep the keys made me a little paranoid about staying there.”

The sheriff frowned at him. “Did he give you trouble?”

“He wants in. Whatever I figure out about this stuff with... the kids? He says he wants to help,” said Blair. The sheriff seemed surprised that they couldn’t take Derek’s uncle at his word. “Not that I know anything personally, Sheriff, but I heard Derek and Stiles talk about the guy a couple times this last week. I asked Derek about it. He doesn’t trust the guy. So, after he played the total creeper card on me at the loft? I’m gonna trust Derek on this one.”

“Stiles doesn’t like him much,” said the sheriff. “And now we’ve gotta try to get him in the loop on this thing? We’ve got our hands full with getting Chris’ help as it is. Peter Hale’s not going to make him very happy at all.”

That wasn’t a surprise but Blair just rolled his eyes. “I had a werewolf standing between me and the front door, getting on me about trespassing. I panicked a little.”

The door chimed then and Blair jumped because he had just said the word “werewolf” out loud in an otherwise empty room. A man in a suit walked in, an FBI badge hanging from a chain around his neck.

“Oh shit,” he muttered, surprised when he noticed the sheriff echoed him just as quiet. They both caught it and looked at each other with open suspicion while still tracking the agent buying his coffee. A moment later the man stood at their table, sipping coffee around a disapproving grimace.

“You’re a long way from home, Dr. Sandburg,” said the agent. “Which is a little odd. Considering just last night your home was nearly burned.”

“Not much I can do with an active crime scene,” said Blair, dismissive. He was angry. That particular agent had no business knowing jackshit about his home. It said nothing good at all that he was so up to date on Blair’s affairs and yet standing right there in an empty donut shop with him. Even the sheriff seemed to notice the problem but he was better at hiding it than Blair felt capable of at the moment. He changed the subject like a lifesaver.

“What are you doing back in town, Agent McCall?” he said. There was a forced professional casualness, based on the rigid way the sheriff sat in his chair. Also based on the mild amusement on the agent’s face about it.

“I’ve been reassigned to the Northern California branch. I’ll be moving through town a lot now, Sheriff. Nothing at the moment in Beacon Hills, but there’s a few problems in Trinity so I’ll be driving through pretty regularly,” he said. He seemed smug about it. Then he shrugged his shoulders, dropped a hand to the table top to tap at it near Blair and reclaim his attention. Blair smacked his laptop shut and looked up at him, frustrated.

“There’s really nothing for you in this town. Sheriff Stilinski doesn’t need any new deputies, and the university’s pretty well taken care of in the whackadoodle department,” the agent said. “You should go home and clean up your place. Change the locks a few times maybe. Just keep your trouble in Washington, huh?”

“Yeah, right,” said Blair. _Whatever. Just leave already_.

The sheriff watched them without a word, wheels almost visibly turning. He was much better at keeping his curiosity in check than Stiles was. The agent looked over at the sheriff then.

"I told you I'd keep track of Stiles for you, and I am. He's settled back in and the warden told me he doesn't need the counseling anymore. She set him up with others like him, they'll make sure he knows what he needs to know," Agent McCall said. He motioned toward Blair. "So whatever you think he can do for you, at this point it's too late. He has theory and babble. Warden Thompson has the experts."

"That is such bull," said Blair, annoyed. "They put the kid in with the general population, not some specialized ward. So whatever you think you know, just rest assured that you know nothing about what you put that kid in for."

Agent McCall shrugged it off. "He's young. The facility is top of the line. Are you telling me he had better chances at some archaic place like Eichen or Bly?"

At least at Eichen a jailbreak would be easier to orchestrate, Blair thought, bitter. He looked up at McCall quickly. "That kid couldn't survive Bly. Don't even-"

"That's why he's at the Sanctuary," said the agent. "And it would still be better if you went back home and left the Stilinskis alone."

The sheriff looked very much like he wanted to argue, but he also looked very much like a man over a barrel; what was he supposed to do when his only contact to his son was the federal agent who had locked his son away? Blair tempered his tone just enough because he didn't want to cause the Stilinskis more trouble than he could be worth. But he still looked up at the agent.

"I'm still a consultant. The warden still _consults me_ on dealing with her cases, okay? So? I'm going to use what resources I've got to help her help that kid," said Blair.

"You can't help that kid," returned McCall. "He got himself in trouble this time. That's not on me. That's on him. The both of you are fighting another lost cause with this one." McCall's attention turned to the sheriff then, calmer but no less intent. "Now I'm sympathetic to your problem here, Sheriff. You know I am. But your kid is out of your league. He's out of Sandburg's league. And the only thing talking to this hack gets you is a headache."

"My son isn't dead yet, Rafe," said the sheriff.

The agent shook his head, expression disappointed. "No, but maybe you'd do yourself a favor if you let yourself believe he is. After what he pulled this week? He's not coming home."

With that cheerful thought, the agent let himself out of the shop, drinking his coffee and moving like he didn't feel the slightest responsibility for the worlds he could crush by just being himself. Blair glared at his back until he disappeared into the dark parking lot. The sheriff stared sadly at his coffee cup, his face pale. There was nothing Blair could say to make what had just been said go away. And he knew the damned asshole was right.

"How d'you know McCall?" the sheriff asked after a moment. Confidence faded, Blair shrugged.

"He arrested my partner. The one who got me in to this stuff," he said, still bitter. The sheriff nodded like he expected it. Then he finished his coffee and toyed with the cup in the quiet. Blair stared at his laptop cover, not sure what to do.

"Look, maybe... I mean, maybe he's-"

"Tell you what," said Stilinski, interrupting him like he knew what was coming. He stood up then, tapped a hand on the laptop. "You keep working on your thing. If you can't stay at Derek's, take Stiles' room. You've got the keys."

Jaw slack, Blair stared up at him. He managed a brief nod. The sheriff returned the acknowledgment.

"But you figure this shit out. Cause I don't care what that shithead has to say about it. My kid's not a lost cause," he said. "And I sure as hell can't leave him there, can't pretend he's dead to make myself feel some kind of better. So we figure something out. Am I clear on that?"

"I'm on it," Blair said. "Just so long as I'm not the only insane person who wants to figure it out."

The sheriff managed a slight grin but he wasn't very amused. He turned to leave then, tossing the coffee cup in the trash as he left. Blair thought it over a moment before he snagged his backpack and the laptop and headed out himself. If Stiles was half his age and could survive the sanctuary surrounded by werewolves, Blair wasn't going to let a single shifty character chase him out of a place he could actually work.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tis been a completely unproductive day and i feel like I need to accomplish something.  
> So.  
> Posting ahead of schedule and hopefully can make it back up in time to _keep up_ with the schedule...
> 
>  
> 
> Here, have a copious amount of feelz...
> 
> \----

Waking up was a nice feeling. It was different than snapping out of a zone. It took time for the injuries to catch up and for a moment Stiles just lay still, mentally checking dials. He had left his pillow at Blair's place this time, but he had traded up for Derek. All he could hear was Derek's heartbeat, Derek's breathing. He didn't even have to open his eyes, just hugged the body he was half sprawled on anyway. An arm snugged around him, another lined up beside his as Derek rubbed a hand along his bicep, pressed a kiss to his forehead. Just there, everything felt good. As long as he didn't move, didn't wake up, Stiles could stay right where he was. As long as he didn't think.

"You're back in time for breakfast," Derek said, quiet voice rumbling in his chest. Stiles scrunched his nose and tucked his face. He would take a pass on the cafeteria for awhile. His stomach disagreed though. He'd argue with it about braving the cafeteria later.

Derek told him that the zone out had lasted only twenty minutes and he had spent the last six hours just asleep, resting. He hadn't missed anything except the tour of the new digs. It was like the guy was trying to make him wake up, careful prodding toward curious awareness. There was something he held back though, he seemed impatient.

Stiles reluctantly woke up to face the day. He had to learn to deal, even if he didn't want to. He wanted to go home. That was going to take work. Especially if he kept pushing himself into panic white-outs. That wasn't okay. And it was really weird whiting out in a patch of trees and waking up in jail cell. He muttered an apology for it but didn't bother moving yet to investigate the new place.

"You're fine, just don't do it anymore," said Derek. "And I told them about the Nogitsune. We thought maybe talking would bring you back and she wanted to know."

"Yeah, whatever. She can't kick my ass for it if Allison's good now," said Stiles. At least he hadn't been part of the conversation to begin with.

"It wasn't your fault in the first place," said Derek.

"Bullshit. That thing still had _my_ face. It only had power at all because of _me_. I should have kept it out longer-"

Derek didn't let him finish. "Yeah, and you're only human. You didn't know what you were up against. So just knock it off. Allison's fine. Victoria's not picking any fights with you over it. Don't start anything up like that again."

"Argents killed my mom. Don't tell me what to do," returned Stiles, petulant but not awake enough to actually argue. It was a weird place to be, considering he had fallen asleep on the guy. But Derek kept quiet, and he didn't move away, only pulled away pain so carefully that Stiles hardly noticed it.

He did notice when the cafeteria started making breakfast, before Derek picked up on it. Stiles was officially awake then. He crawled off the bunk, uncoordinated but more impatient, and was surprised by socks on cold concrete. Derek seemed amused by the hunt for the missing shoes and Stiles' complaints about people's misplaced priorities when stripping someone.

"We checked the bandages too," Derek offered. "Which it doesn't look like you're really going to let me do before breakfast, so..."

Stiles looked up at him from where he was trying to untie knotted laces. "Oh my god would you stop? It's adorable and everything but I can't figure out what to do with this side of you..." Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles grinned. "See, that's familiar."

"Whatever works," said Derek, shaking his head. He found his shoes without effort and Stiles pushed him toward the cafeteria moments later. He hadn't eaten in forever and thanks to his unfortunately sensitive super-sniffer they were first in line to be fed. And because it was a werewolf sanctuary nobody said anything to him when he walked away with a tray overloaded with food enough for three people.

The tray was nearly empty when Jim showed up. He checked in with Stiles but the guy wasn't a big talker, so Stiles felt like he got a pass on the sin of letting a panic attack hit white-out stage. He knew Blair would have been all over him for it while Jim just watched out for him a little more than usual. He went for seconds and could practically feel Derek and Jim both staring at him the whole time. Ten minutes later he came back to find Talia's pack had cleared their table for them, twelve virtual strangers packed around like sardines with a place barely left open for Stiles. He stalled a little on the walk back across the room, paranoid at the body count.

"I didn't know how to tell him, so I didn't," Derek was saying to his mom, whisper quiet. Even from ten feet away, it wasn't like Stiles had any trouble hearing him; the noise of the big room acted more like static to help him focus on Derek. His words made Stiles zoom right in on him as he closed the distance to the table, all eyes on his traitor-boyfriend. It just figured Derek was trying to sneak something around him. Yeah, panic was bad, and yeah, he had just panicked himself into a white out the night before. But he wasn't _fragile_. It had just been a really shitty night. He felt like he needed to knock a few heads together if they were going to kid-glove him because the surprises from that kind of treatment were usually what started the panic in the first place.

"Are you kidding?" Stiles asked. He wedged back into his spot between Derek and Jim and was greeted by a cloud of anxiety. He let his tray _thunk_ on the table. "This is why you're nice to me now? Guilty conscience? What did you leave out then?"

He was annoyed but there wasn't any real heat to it. He had been fed, he wasn't hurting as badly, and he wasn't panicked. Not to mention Stiles knew he trusted Derek and he didn't have a lot of options to the contrary. Secrets and sneaking was more like the expected norm and it made him feel a little better to pick up on it. He poked at his second round of breakfast while looking between Derek and Talia expectantly. Talia didn't seem terribly concerned. She looked to Derek and he just shrugged.

"Okay, Stiles. You take notes and tell me how I was _supposed_ to just bring this one up," Derek said. He stopped messing with his food though. Talia looked down the table to someone on the other side of Jim and out of Stiles' easy sight. Movement said they stood up but Talia drew his attention back.

"I mentioned your mother. And I owe you an explanation of what she brings to this problem of yours. But I don't think I'm the best person to tell you about it," she said.

"Then there's a snag here unless you can get me a direct line to my dad," replied Stiles. "Because no offense but I _don't_ wanna talk to an Argent about her right now. And nobody else here knows my mom."

"Actually they do," said Talia, "Which is the discrepancy that Derek and I have stumbled over."

Confused, Stiles looked to Derek. He nodded. "I met her last night, when you zoned," he said.

There was really no chance to process what he said because someone set a careful hand on Stiles' shoulder to draw his attention away.

"Stiles?"

It was that almost familiar voice again and she sounded worried. It was weird but Stiles thought for a split-second he caught scent of his dad. Then everything leveled out, the dials went somewhat normal and the loud chaos was momentarily manageable. It wasn’t because of Derek or his mom this time though. Looking back over his shoulder, Stiles instantly noticed the brown hair and the brown eyes of the woman talking to him.

She was his mom. Older, shorter than he remembered, but... His mom was right there. She met his stare, she had a smile on her face, she was actually real, actually touching him with a real hand on his shoulder. Just in case he was imagining things, he caught her hand, trapped at his shoulder to make absolutely sure she was real.

"Mom?" His question was met with a nod and a smile and she pulled her hand free just to brush his messed up, shaggy hair off his forehead. It was a mom-thing. _She did the mom-thing,_ she had his mom's face and a few more crows-feet for it. She looked the same but just different enough that she wasn't a clone or a zombie or anything supernaturally faking it. He started to scrabble off the table bench and just as quickly started to fall off of it, tripped up by Jim and Derek on either side of him. He made it to his feet with their help and caught his mom in a hug before he had fully caught his balance. It was weird because the last time he had seen her, she had been taller than him. Now she was the same height as his dad and Stiles couldn't hide in her arms quite as easily as he once did.

But his mom was alive.

Except she wasn't supposed to be. The thought hit hard when Stiles glanced over at Derek and saw just past him, Talia Hale looking on. She seemed just as teary-eyed as he felt. But he still had Talia’s voice in his head, telling him that his mom had to die, _so she died._ Like it was a choice. It bugged him and he looked away only to have his mom surprise him. She pulled back and carefully caught his face between her hands - warm hands, not cold - to meet him eye to eye. She was happy, he thought, except for a sad smile. There was no way to win. She couldn't be dead if she was alive, she couldn't be happy if she was sad, but Stiles wasn't sure how to make them line up right.

"You're here?" he asked, hoping her voice could fix it, that she would sound like he remembered, tell him some story that could get rid of a memory at a hospital bed. Or a funeral with a jar of ashes. Or his dad drinking himself so sick he ended up in the hospital too just weeks after she left it.

His mom just nodded, her smile getting somehow more sad than it started. "I'm here. I've been here."

"The whole time?" he asked. She nodded and sighed, brushed her hand over his face and into his hair, watching him.

"Nearly the whole time."

There must have been something on his face because she rested her hands on his shoulders and tried to guide him back a step so he was sitting down on the bench beside Derek again. "Finish eating. We'll talk outside," she said.

"What about the funeral?" he asked.

"That's what we'll talk about," she promised. Stiles stared, face slack, like something had broken. His mom caught his hands in hers, pressed a kiss to his forehead. Her scent changed, like she was afraid. Stiles blinked at her. She stepped back. "I promise. We'll talk about it."

The problem was, Stiles didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to remember all those things from when he was a kid. All the panic attacks and the fights with his dad about who got to order the other around, or how big the stone was in the graveyard because one side had his Mom's name and the other was supposed to have his dad's name on it someday. They buried an empty urn. Maybe it had sand in it; Stiles was pretty sure he remembered the urn kind of sloshed around, not quite a rattling noise.

"Oh my god," was the only coherent thing Stiles managed to say. Derek tugged on his elbow and he looked over at him, a little numb. Derek raised an eyebrow at him and Stiles started to nod but he shook his head; nope, he wasn't okay. Not really.

Food was officially out of the question and Stiles gave up on the idea without even looking at whatever was left. He sat on the bench, mostly facing Derek, and wiped tears off his face before they were noticed. Werewolves could smell them just as easily as he could but maybe they wouldn't see who it came from if he caught it quick enough. His mom hovered, talking over his head at Talia about something Stiles didn't want to know about. He knew Derek was watching him and he could even tell that Jim was concerned. Another panic attack was expected; they were all watching him for a zone out. Except Stiles wasn't panicked. He wasn't sure what he was, but it hurt. A lot.

Rather than be fussed at for something that wasn't even his fault, Stiles stood up. He caught his mom's arm just enough to carefully, politely, move her out of the way. Then he headed for familiar territory. Derek was only a few steps behind and caught up quick enough that he wasn't chasing. They were just leaving. They couldn't get far, but they could go somewhere else, and that was enough. At least until Stiles could wrap his head around it.

 

***

 

It wasn't that Jim's cell was anything to write home about but the Hale pack left them alone there. Stiles didn't want to deal with them. He didn't want answers. He didn't want to think about it. He had a dissertation to read. He had his own stuff to get in order. Like trying to figure out how to get rid of half his life thinking he knew for a fact what his world was made of. It turned out he didn't know anything. Time to learn.

Derek didn't really try to draw him out. They sat in quiet on the lower bunk, back to back with Stiles resolutely only mentioning something he read in the book. It turned out both of them had dead-beats for moms the last few years of their lives. They had something else in common, something else to talk about without saying anything out loud. They were gonna make great boyfriends as soon as Stiles figured out how to keep from zoning out on the _happy_ times. That was the one downside to hiding out in Jim's corner instead of the wing they had found the day before; there were some things they couldn't do with a babysitter. That was just common courtesy.

When he had run out of pages to read in the only sentinel-for-dummies book he would ever get his hands on, Stiles checked in with Derek. He had a book of his own he had found, some history thing from Jim's collection. It looked like it was from World War Two. Stiles tried to be patient and stay still, let Derek finish without saying anything. It was an admirable effort if he wanted to pat himself on the back for it. But Derek ultimately set the book down. When he stood, Stiles lost his support post and crashed down on the springy mattress.

"Come on. Outside," he said. He stood and pulled Stiles up from the depressed sprawl over the bottom bunk. Outside was definitely not where Stiles wanted to be and he dragged.

"I don't want to talk to them," he said. Derek shook his head.

"Nope. I want to move. This cooped up thing is going to get old. Can you spar?" Derek asked. Stiles perked up a little. He wasn't healed from the actual fight yet but he could get behind that idea. More learning was a good thing.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tis been a completely productive day! Yay!
> 
> But I totally screwed up the schedule. Sigh. Posts will be slow for awhile, but they're still pending. :)
> 
> And ps: thank you guys so, so much for the comments!! <3  
> (Some days they're the only thing keeping me on-task!)
> 
> _________________________

For the next few days, Stiles didn't talk much. He and Derek stayed in the cell one wing over but gravitated toward Jim and his space. The Hale pack stayed just on the edge of their peripheral vision but they avoided the group for the most part. His mom virtually disappeared again.

Stiles couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that everything he knew about his life could have gone differently. He could have had a complete family. His dad wouldn't have broken like he did, wouldn't have leaned on him so much, wouldn't have felt like Stiles' responsibility. The idea that he could have just been a kid for a few more years got him every time it looped in his head.

Knowing that had been some kind of conscious choice to take away from him, something his _mom_ had done because of Talia Hale and the Argents, just didn't sit well.

So he left them alone. Since they were dead anyway, no problem for them, right?

Instead, he tried to get used to staring at huge walls when he was outside. It was like being in a big city, surrounded by concrete and glass. Washington was muggier than he was used to and he or Derek either one lasted five minutes outside before streaking a hand across a sweaty face and leaving lines of grass dirt or grime from the walls.

There wasn't a lot to do there. Outside meant fresh air, basketball, a running track, and the tree grove in the center of the yard. That was definitely Talia's territory though so Stiles avoided it. Derek sometimes went off on his own and probably went to talk to his mom. Stiles didn't put too much thought in to it on purpose.

He would pester Jim about sentinel stuff whenever Derek wasn't around. It wasn't easy to get used to. The environment at the sanctuary didn't change, the same kind of noises day and night, twenty-four-seven. Jim taught him what to listen for to determine if the noise was close or behind the walls; everything echoed around the concrete so _good luck_ turning down the reverb. There were a few sounds that were louder in the cell Derek and Stiles had taken over that Jim couldn't hear in his section of the building. Or at least he said he couldn't hear them. Stiles swore the noises didn't go away except when he was outside and away from the walls.

"It's like a whirr-whirr... Kinda a rotation pattern..." he said to Jim, trying to get at the sound again. They were outside, it was cloudy but not windy so all of the sounds within the yard's walls were dampened. It nagged at Stiles' hearing like a buzzing fly. Jim just shrugged and shook his head to dismiss the noise.

"I don't hear it," he said. Stiles frowned at him. Jim knew better than to try lying by now but there he was, doing it anyway.

"You don't hear it?" Stiles asked. "I mean, I know Derek doesn't hear it. I've been in this place three days now and I've figured out there's stuff he can't pick up. But you-"

"I can't hear it," said Jim. His heart rate and body language said it was a lie. Again. Stiles was really sensitive to those lately. Jim looked him square in the face then and dropped the front. "And it doesn't matter. It's not here. It's not where we are, you don't know anybody who could figure it out, so this isn't going to solve anything for you. It's a stupid sound. Just drop it, Stiles."

Over the past few days Jim had helped Stiles track down a bunch of similar, stupid random sounds. They could hear the MRI machine on medbay level ramp up. They could tell when the x-Ray machine was turned on. Jim had it figured out when they changed the pass codes on the electronic doors because they reset the whole system at once. But there was one stupid sound that the guy was almost afraid of. Stiles slumped against the wall and tried to sort that out. But he left it alone.

He asked if anyone had a chess set or who they had to kill to get a game board in a werewolf sanctuary. Jim seemed visibly pained by the question, like somebody had made a bad pun.

"What?" Stiles said, defensive as much as bored and being driven batty by unknown sounds in the walls. "Someone has to have a chess set. It's, like, the rules of prison or something."

Jim nodded, eyebrow arched the only remaining sign of annoyance. "I know of one."

"Well can we borrow it?" Stiles asked. "Who do we talk to?"

"Claudia," said Jim.

Well _that_ sucked. Stiles slunk back against the wall and scowled over at the trees, far away. Chess was out of the question then. He was possibly going to go crazy from boredom in werewolf jail.

 

***

 

When it rained, the noise was terrible inside. Not only did the rain trap sounds, it trapped smells, and everything hung on the air. Less than a week at the sanctuary without escape and Stiles decided he hated the rain. And he explained out loud in great detail why because Derek was a captive audience who would also understand his plight. He could especially appreciate the part about the number of couples hiding inside from the rain and not-so-quietly getting their game on with flat mattresses over a metal-wire grid that grated at every nerve in Stiles' head. It couldn't have the decency to squeak like a cheap box-spring, _oh no,_ it had to do the bunk bed equivalent of dragging nails across chalk-board. And Stiles was stuck inside, experiencing all of it, too distracted to even focus on Derek.

After three hours of that one afternoon, Derek seemed to have hit his wall. He climbed off the lower bunk - Stiles had claimed the upper bunk and banished himself there when he got too close to a zone on all the sensory input - and stood up to lean on the top mattress to glare at Stiles.

"What?" An innocently confused Stiles blinked back at him.

"Get up," Derek said. "We're going out."

"Uhh... It's _raining_?" said Stiles. Derek caught his arm and tugged anyway.

"Really? I somehow missed that detail with you complaining about it all day," he said. When Stiles didn't immediately start moving, Derek caught his leg and started pulling it down too. Stiles pulled back and clung to his hiding hole on the upper bunk. They had a game of it with Derek winning and nearly pulling him down into a fireman's carry just to piss him off. When his feet hit the ground, Stiles put up a close-quarters spar that was equal parts retaliation and refusal to give up the game.

A moment later he caught Derek in a kiss and they had a very happy few minutes standing in the middle of the tiny room trying to sort out which of them was the better kisser. It wasn't an old argument yet and Stiles' chief complaint was that if he couldn't keep his senses from spiking on things, how were they _ever_ going to have an answer to the question? Which Derek usually interpreted to mean that Derek was the better at it and werewolves had huge egos. The answer was obviously _more practice_ and Stiles had a hard battle to wage.

And then some jerk a wing over started clanging a metal cup on the bars of the cell and somebody else broke out a harmonica _of all the stupid..._ And Stiles pulled back to shove his hands over his ears. Derek scowled out at the hall. He gave them a moment to catch their breath before he grabbed Stiles' shirt front and pulled on him to make him follow. Stiles grumbled but put more effort into dialing down noise than arguing.

They ended up outside. In the rain. Where it was warm and wet like a stale shower. And they were soaked in minutes. Derek took off his shirt and carried it wadded up to save it a little but Stiles didn't care; it wasn't like they had a laundry service at the sanctuary anyway. He let Derek drag him to the trees and looked at him sideways for it when they got there. Talia's territory. Derek looked around at the semi-dry cover, shrugged it off.

"They're smart. They stay inside when it rains," he pointed out. It made sense to Stiles. He couldn't exactly complain about the sound of water through tree leaves blocking out the rest of the sanctuary noise, either. He heard rain and he heard himself and he heard Derek. That was a nearly perfect arrangement, really.

Without giving actual warning, Stiles pounced on Derek in the sheltered rain. It was more fun when Derek laughed and the only way to make him laugh was to surprise him half the time so Stiles liked his tactic. And it worked, too.

An hour later they were both happily passed out in the semi-dry hiding spot between the overgrown roots of Stiles' favorite tree. Werewolves were exhausting at _everything_ and Stiles was totally okay with that. He took a nap listening to the rain and Derek and thinking that he needed to complain about the rain more often.

 

***

 

They awoke when the rain stopped. It was close to dinner anyway. The effort at standing in search of food was briefly curtailed by more roughhousing when Stiles added a handful of dried pine needles and cedar sprigs to Derek's damp hair on the way up. It went completely sideways when he heard movement from close by but couldn't tell where. He looked around the tree and saw only more trees. It was just creepy enough that it warranted more investigation but Derek shook his head.

"Don't worry about it," he told him.

"Come on, like I have anything better than weird unexplained sounds to worry about lately?" Stiles returned.

"I don't know, maybe a shower? _Dinner_ , probably," said Derek. He wasn't lying but he was dodging. Stiles stared at him, waiting. Derek shook his head. "I know what you're hearing but I'm not telling you what it is. We go back, clean up, get food, maybe later I'll show you."

That was the worst way ever to get Stiles to back off something. His curiosity took over and barreled through in search of secrets. Derek knew better. But he steeled himself against Stiles' wheedling and started walking away. Because Stiles _would_ follow him after he said something like that. The thought that he was being played was a fleeting one as Stiles was thinking about sounds and wondering why Derek got a tattoo if he was always going to cover it up _because that tattoo sure completed the whole overall picture..._

They ended up in the showers before dinner. Stiles was not about to walk around werewolves after an afternoon keeping up with Derek. When they invaded Jim's table in the cafeteria a little while later, he looked like he appreciated the effort.

"Looks like you're over cursing the rain," he said to Stiles. That surprised him.

"You heard me?" Stiles asked. Jim shrugged.

"Some of it. You're only one block over."

"We went out," was all Stiles said about it, grinning and smug. Jim nodded and tucked back into his food. He could see that much. The three focused on their dinners for a few minutes, the noise of the cafeteria a good deterrent for the extra chatter. Then Stiles decided to cheat.

"What's the noise in the trees?" he asked Jim. He thought maybe it would rile Derek but it didn't, earned nothing more than a huff and roll of his eyes. Jim was only momentarily confused by the question. Then he shrugged.

"It's just Talia," he said. Like that wasn't the creepiest, most baffling thing he could have said. Stiles stared at him.

"Wait huh? What do you mean it's Talia?"

"They dug a d-"

" _Don't_ call it that," interrupted Derek.

"What?" Jim asked. "That's what it is, isn't it?"

"Not exactly."

In deference to the fact that Derek had claws and teeth when he wanted to, Jim just rolled his eyes.

"Fine. They dug a tunnel under the yard. Talia and Claudia and a bunch of the others all live there," Jim said with a shrug. "They don't like the free hotel space so they made their own."

Derek looked over at Stiles, a preemptive warning on his face. "It's not a den."

The brief panic that Stiles felt at the realization that he could have been caught half naked rolling around in the dirt on somebody's house faded. If Derek was worried about his mom getting on their case about jailhouse promiscuity then he wouldn't have dragged Stiles out there to mess around in the first place. It wasn't lost on Stiles that Derek had instead taken him somewhere he felt safe, even knowing there was a den nearby. Derek still trusted their moms, he just stayed away because Stiles wanted to. And he was very protective of their werewolf-pack-den.

"A den is a den," said Stiles. Back on point as a little shit with a big red button to push. "And that one is obviously subterranean otherwise I would have seen it by now. And Talia keeps her pack there. And there's the whole werewolf thing-"

"This is why. It's not a den," said Derek.

"Wolves have dens," argued Stiles. "Own it! You have a den!"

" _Werewolves_ ," insisted Derek. Stiles nodded.

"Man-wolf. Wolf is still half of the equation. Ergo you are half wolf. And... You have a den. _Wolf, wolf, wolf,_ " said Stiles, taunting but carefully playful and smirking. Derek just stared at him, frustrated and confused. Even Jim picked up on it, so he stepped in to defend Derek from the corner he had put himself in.

"Okay, chief. We get it. The question that drags up is _which half_ are you getting all jailhouse-domestic with?" Jim asked. "If you've got halves to choose from."

That knocked Stiles down a peg from confusion alone. He didn't think Jim meant anything offensive by it, and the look on Derek's face said the guy had hit the nail right on the head. But Stiles was worried on behalf of werewolf-mental-health everywhere.

"You don't get to _choose_ ," he said. "You are both. There's no surgical process to remove a second head or something. It's like... I have my _mom_ , and my _dad_ , and there's no _me_ without the _both of them_. You can't cut them out. So whatever that spark is that brings out the lycanthropy, it's always there. You can't cut it out. Just hide it for awhile or something. But it's there. It's gotta balance out."

It was hard to tell if Jim agreed or not; the man was unreadable and could shrug anything off. But Derek was staring at Stiles, jaw slightly slack and eyes wide. It wasn't exactly a look of surprise but he had certainly heard something he hadn't expected to. Stiles stared back at him, intent.

"I mean it," he said. "No halves. Just _you_."

Derek cracked a grin finally and nodded, his attention dropping back to his food. "Yeah, I get it."

Stiles was antsy the rest of dinner. He hadn't thought the teasing could go so sideways on him. The more they let him stew on it, the more he kept opening his mouth to apologize. Words didn't happen though because he was surrounded by people who he had probably offended somehow and that awareness was way too much pressure. So he put it off and promised himself he'd apologize later, without the audience.

Except when _later_ showed up, Derek pinned him to the lower bunk and didn't let him leave all night. Stiles figured whatever he had to apologize for had been taken care of somewhere. So he happily left it alone.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't tell anyone, but I think I might be getting caught up to get back to regular posting schedule... 
> 
> _____________________________

It was honestly surprising how willing the sheriff was to look the other way on illegal activities. Not only was he ignoring the fact that Blair was intentionally trying to dig up confidential information, he was facilitating it; the sheriff provided Blair with a pint-sized hacker willing to risk their life and academic career. The guy wasn’t exactly pint-sized, but he was still just a kid. For the second day in a row, Blair hung over Danny Mahealani’s shoulder, watching him code things. The kid was good. The sheriff knew his hackers; Danny had already printed out the prison inmate roster and was working on the blueprints archived with the state. It was ridiculous how easy the kid made it look.

Breaking into a prison was no small undertaking. Days of work (after school and lacrosse practice hours anyway) had gone into lines of code with no guarantee it would get them anywhere other than an appointment with a judge. It depended on the security, on if the channels were monitored, on how well Danny set out his own security to keep his trace hidden. All Blair had to do was make sure the guy had a smoothie or kale chips around. He was familiar with the computer systems Washington state law enforcement used and Danny called it archaic, which was at once a relief and yet slightly concerning. Blair was still a cop and the "simple" computer network meant bad things for public safety in general. He just happened to be a good guy using the problem to help fight the good fight this time.

The final result was a program to scrape images off the database, large files, anything that could maybe get them a visual clue on the maze that was the Sanctuary. With a few keystrokes Danny sent the program out into the federal system embedded in the gatekeeper code that tricked the computers into recognizing the connection as secure and allowed. It was fully traceable the second it was in and Danny had a dozen masks up to slow detection as best he could.

"You're taking the heat for this if we get busted, right?" Danny asked. It was pretty much impossible to break the kid's zen but he actually sounded worried. Blair stopped watching the data transfer on the screen to glance at Danny. He clapped a hand to his shoulder in an effort to reassure him.

"It's all on me. I'll wipe the place for prints and everything," Blair promised. They sat at the table in Derek's loft, surrounded by print-outs of names and inmate profiles - which Blair had legally obtained via his access through the Cascade PD - and aerial Google Earth images and various other debris that proved Blair had hardly left the apartment in three days. If the Feds came looking, nothing there would send them toward Danny. The data transfer colored another dot on the bar, showing more files scraped off to the designated cloud storage. It was working without a hitch so far.

The big door across the room was shoved open, startling the two waiting impatiently at the computer. Blair started to reach to shut the laptop screen but Danny swatted his hand away to defend it. Rather than ruin their efforts and doom himself to the wrong side of prison bars, Blair stood up and started to move around the table to run interference for their visitor. A short red head who looked like she stepped off a runway except for the part where she was short even in heels that looked like they were going to break her ankles.

“Oh my god. I don’t believe this.” She crossed her arms and glared past Blair at Danny. The hacker looked positively innocent and the redhead looked murderous. It was, despite everything, the hottest thing Blair had seen in easily weeks. The purse she carried was expensive, the clothes were just as branded as the purse, and even her attitude screamed money. It was just damned impossible to tell how old she was, but the fact that she launched into lecturing Danny about stupid-things-to-do made Blair fairly certain she was a classmate of Danny and Stiles’. He wasn’t in a berg like Beacon Hills for dating anyway.

“Uh... excuse me...” He attempted to interrupt and the angry hazel eyes turned on him like lasers. Blair actually took a step back, surprised.

“This isn’t your apartment,” she told him.

“No but we have permission-”

“How did you get permission? The person who owns it is out of town,” the girl interrupted.

“Lydia! It’s okay,” said Danny. The name was familiar. It kicked in a moment later and Blair openly stared. Stiles’ Lydia, the one they would have called if Derek hadn’t shown up. The kid kept pretty high standards.

“Wow. Really?” Blair didn’t realize he asked that out loud until Lydia glared at him again. “I mean. Uh. Yeah. Really. It’s okay. I’ve got Stiles’ keys from the sheriff and everything. And I knew the WiFi password.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “That’s not hard. Even I knew the password.”

The girl seemed quite naturally able to throw Blair off and he wasn’t sure why. He took a step back just to take a breather and looked to Danny, gladly handing the apparent negotiations off to him. Danny sighed, frustrated, and glared at the computer screen for a moment. Then he tried to split his attention between the screen and Lydia.

“How’d you know we were here?” Danny asked.

“You weren’t answering my text so I found your phone,” said Lydia. “I warned you I would. There’s too much weird stuff going on for my friends to just disappear- No, I’m sorry, why are you here?” She turned to Blair again, arms crossed.

“Did anybody tell you where they are?” asked Danny, drawing her attention back.

“No. Well, I heard where Stiles is. I don’t believe it. But I heard it. And I don’t know where Derek is. He won’t answer his phone at all,” Lydia said. Blair held up a hand to put a pause in the conversation and dug into his ragtag-looking backpack on the corner of the table, half buried under damning print-outs. He brought out Derek’s phone.

“Familiar?” he asked, handing it to Lydia. Before she could attack with her manicured nails, he explained as best he could to the uninitiated. “Derek’s been _arrested_ , like Stiles. Same reasons.”

“Werewolf reasons,” said Danny, helpfully. Blair actually breathed a little easier. Lydia bristled, annoyed by the news, but she seemed to deem the messenger worth living. She looked to the papers Blair had moved out of the way to get to his backpack, her eyes narrowing slightly as she read them from too far away. Then she moved to read them from closer up. Blair slipped the pages out of her hands and started trying to reorganize them.

“We’re trying to get some information to help them,” said Blair.

“We’re gonna bust them out,” said Danny. _Okay, fine,_ they were just going to throw a jailbreak party and invite _everyone_ into their little club. Blair rolled his eyes and gave up, leaning against the table and crossing his arms. He looked to Danny expectantly.

“Anything else you want to tell her about it?” he asked, defaulting to sarcasm. Danny nodded then and looked up from the screen to Lydia.

“Derek went to save Stiles because there’s an actual thing there and Stiles better be getting some from behind bars or there’s no helping him,” said Danny.

“Are you kidding? Stiles is the only one who didn’t know there was an actual thing there,” said Lydia as Blair tried not to choke. “Derek’s as stupid for Stiles as Stiles is for him. But that doesn’t mean I approve of _jailhouse_ sex, those stupid... ugh... nimrods!”

The conversation was at least not public discussion of a jailbreak but Blair wasn’t sure he was really hearing a public discussion of their friends’ jailhouse love-life. It was a teenager thing. Had to be. The anthropologist in him chided him for having been out of his field of study too long; _teenagers_ shouldn’t surprise him. But then Lydia went to hang over Danny’s shoulder and investigate what he was doing. She invited _herself_ to their jailbreak party. Great.

Blair scrubbed a hand over his face and through his hair. He was in so far over his head and dragging teenagers with him like dominoes; _what even_ was his life anymore?

 

***

 

Mountain ash boundaries were still, five days later, something Stiles couldn't get through. The only explanation he had was the glowy-hand-thing and that hadn't come up since the night of the fight. He didn't know what it was or how to use it but at least he hadn't been forced to find out. It was a new part of life in werewolf jail, fights and scuffles and problems, with people snapping at him and growling. Some of the people locked up never bothered to put their fangs away. They couldn't or wouldn't, Stiles wasn't sure. But every one of his new neighbors liked to push people around.

Since Stiles wasn't a wolf, and he hung out with Jim - just an _Other_ , no claws and only known as a mental case to the werewolves and shifters - that made him an easy target. The fight with Meyers had been the worst of it. The other scuffles were shoving matches and Jim or Derek broke it up since Stiles stayed with one or the other as a rule now. Name calling happened but that was just boring by comparison.

It was like high school without the yard narcs, times ten. Cliques and packs and loners and the werewolf equivalent of hipsters setting the fashion curve. They actually had a knitting club. Stiles talked to them long enough to figure out where they got their supplies because he wanted new clothes. The next day he had new clothes and someone had made him a beanie. Not bad for one week in. A few people kept pets like cats and puppies. Somebody had trained a rat. (There were a few people who pretended to be pets; Stiles stayed far away from them.)

Werewolf jail, in short, sucked. But it wasn't exactly unfamiliar either. After almost a week, Stiles picked up the patterns. He knew who he could talk to and who he needed to stay away from. And he knew how to safely avoid Hale pack while also relying on them when he needed helped out of a tight spot. It would just be a lot easier if he didn't have to avoid them because the Hales knew everybody.

After a few days with the idea in the back of his mind, Stiles was almost used to the idea that his mom was alive. The idea that she had never been dead at all was harder because he had been at the hospital when she died; some things didn't leave the memory. He avoided that one. But she was alive now. It seemed kind of stupid the more he thought about it; he had spent nine years of his life wanting one thing, one person back in his life, and now that she was there he couldn't be around her. Just because he was afraid to be, because he couldn't get over being the nine year old kid picked up by an orderly and carried out of a hospital room as a nurse brought in a crash-cart. It had been a _lie_.

So what if it happened again? It would hurt, but looking around, Stiles saw concrete walls and cage bars and people who had very little excuse not to kill him out of boredom. That's what the sanctuary was for, wasn't it? Let the monsters kill each other off so long as they weren't on the streets. None of them would ever get to go home. But so far they were still alive and Stiles was _hiding_ from his mom.

Five days after running from his mom the first time, Stiles sat at breakfast with Derek and Jim. They were their usual quiet and Stiles kept himself from fidgeting or talking by finishing off his own food. Then he started picking hash-browns off Derek's plate and got glared at. It didn't have the usual effect.

"I wanna go see my mom," Stiles said. It was rushed out like an explanation, a defense against the crime of food theft, but he hadn't planned to say anything at all. Definitely not that. Derek tugged his tray a little further from Stiles.

"Alright. I'll hurry it up then," he said. Maybe he caught the hint Stiles hadn't meant to throw so Stiles rolled with it, nodded like that was the plan all along. He glanced at Jim. The sentinel angled his breakfast a little further out of reach.

"I don't need any help with mine either," he said, just in case. Stiles scrunched his nose and gnawed at his plastic spork. They were slow.

The thing of it was, if he wasn't such a chicken-shit, Stiles knew where to go to find the Hale pack and his mom. He didn't need somebody to track her down for him, it wasn't that hard to find somebody at the sanctuary; it was just a big square box of a yard, with cell blocks attached that were all one-way entry. Not much of a maze. But Stiles waited anyway. He just felt like he needed back-up.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember... _AU, AU, AU..._
> 
> PS: not beta'd.  
> \---------

It was nearly twenty minutes before they tracked down Talia. Stiles' mom had a habit of disappearing completely, but the assumption was that Talia could find her. That was just one of those alpha perks. The first place to look for either one of them was the dug-out side of the small hill under the trees and the cave-like entry there. Stiles hadn't seen it before but Derek and Jim knew it. A little further inside the door parts and pieces from inside the cells had been used to shore up the space. Metal bed frames, pipes and re-purposed bed sheets were anchored alongside tree limbs that had been sacrificed to the project. They held up an entry big enough for two people and went back into the hill before going down.

It was a hole in the ground. It was also dark. Stiles could see better than Derek could as the daylight wound out along the tunnel. It crept back in step at a time until they stepped out into a room that reeked of smoke and oils and burned-things. Candles made out of stuff Stiles didn't want to think about - but probably only came from the kitchen - were stuck in nooks in the clay-carved walls. A little wispy fog clung to the ceiling of the place, only inches above their heads. But it didn’t feel anywhere near as creepy as being in the cell blocks. And it was blessedly quiet. Roots of a deep-seated tree crawled down one wall, massive and sprawling. Stiles had seen something like it before in the cellar under the nemeton. This tree was bigger and still alive.

The dug-out room had furniture hobbled together from the cheap mattresses and boughs of wood from the trees. It had rugs made out of shredded up clothes. Blankets were folded and stacked neatly on a table stolen from the cafeteria. It was a common-room for a dorm, if recycling survivalists ever got together and dug out a dorm. No TV though.

The burned-out cell block Stiles had been left in after his zone out the week before suddenly made sense. The cell block had been stripped clean and everything from it relocated. If Stiles had gotten his so-called gift from his mom then she could have started the fire that blackened the walls, either to cover for the pillaging or in an attempt to set the sanctuary on fire Stiles had no way to know. He preferred to think it was an escape attempt because that made him feel better about his mom disappearing on him. Maybe she tried to come home.

Other tunnels left off from the room and Stiles looked away from a chair still half-woven on the floor to see Talia step out of one of the dark entryways. She seemed surprised to see them in the den.

"Stiles wanted to come," said Derek. The alpha asked about Claudia and Stiles managed a nod. Given the other pack members occupying the common-room, Talia turned away, waving for them to follow. Too anxious to trust it, Stiles nudged Derek ahead of him. Ellison hung back at a question from one of the Others in the pack. Stiles couldn't tell why the guy was in the sanctuary but he wasn't a wolf and Jim seemed to get along alright with them. The older sentinel was good with Derek but werewolves tended to get his back up and his temper on a trigger; a den of them seemed like a bad idea. The concern dropped when Derek caught Stiles' hand to tug him along. _Right_. They weren't there to worry about Jim.

Stiles' mom sat by herself in a room cluttered with things and odds and ends. She had scraps of old clothes spread on the bed in front of her and was braiding them together, just like the rugs from the larger room. Claudia looked up at Talia's entry, unconcerned, but her eyes widened when she saw Stiles crowd in behind her with Derek at his shoulder. Her surprise seemed weird until Stiles remembered what it was like to have werewolves sneak up on him, that his mom didn't have the weird senses thing to have heard them approach. That came from his dad. His dad who would have _killed_ for the chance to see Claudia Stilinski weaving a rug in a werewolf den.

"Hi," Stiles managed. Because he couldn't figure out how to say what he wanted to say and he figured it didn't work to just dump everything on her all at once. He should have asked Derek how to handle it, since he and his mom had reached some kind of peace accord over the last week, but that idea didn't hit him until he was staring down the barrel of his own family issues.

"Are you okay?" his mom asked. It was just to _really_ remind him that she was his mom, probably, because it worked. Stiles nodded.

The pleasantries were awkward but they survived. Talia cheated and stole Derek on some excuse that she had to talk strategy on the new cell block, which made no sense at all but Stiles figured he was just too distracted to understand basic English just then. Derek shoved him carefully toward what looked like a chair built by a hobbit and then disappeared.

It took forever for Stiles to get past just staring at his mom. He could still hear Derek and paid more attention to him than anything his mom was saying to him, the two sounds mixing weird but not kicking in a zone. It registered that Claudia was talking about the craft project she had been doing. Something safe and boring and not likely to make Stiles stand up and walk out. She was waiting for him to _prove_ he could handle something more substantial than scrap-weaving.

"Why didn't you just take us with you?" Stiles asked, apparently out of nowhere and completely blunt. That had to be proof enough. "We would have gone with you where ever we had to."

"Because you would have gotten hurt," said Claudia. The question didn't seem to surprise her at all, like the answer was something she already knew and wouldn't back down from. "Gerard attacked the human heart of the Hale pack trying to destroy it. He had barely any pieces on the board and managed to put the queen in check before we knew he had moved. So when the poison attacked, when I got so sick those few months... You and your father were at greater risk than ever and I couldn't do anything, Stiles. I couldn't tell what was real, I imagined unicorns in the hallway, remember?"

He did remember. It had been fun for all of five seconds before his little-kid self had figured out his mom wasn't kidding when she told him to stay away from the wild animals grazing on the wallpaper. Then it was just scary because, back then, Stiles still knew the difference between what someone said he should see and what he saw with his own eyes.

"You were worried I was going to try to pet one and wouldn't let me leave my room. You locked me in," he said. She had been mad at him and shoved him into his room with no warning, then didn't even let him out for dinner. He spent all night thinking his mom hated him and didn't even know why. That was one of the parts Stiles wanted to erase from his mind. Claudia nodded.

"I didn't _lock_ the door," she said, correcting him. "I melted the knob. Your dad had to replace the whole door without waking you up. We couldn't explain that to you then."

The behind-the-scenes glimpse was almost helpful, Stiles realized, but it wouldn't have made any sense at all to him a week earlier. He stared down at his hands, remembering the way he had made silver-coated cell bars glow white. "You were scared?"

"Wild animals with horns designed for stabbing and skewering were stomping their feet in the hall," Claudia said. "I was _terrified_."

That was something else that wouldn't have made sense to Stiles before he started knowingly conversing with werewolves. Unicorns were supposed to be friendly and protective of small things, but lore wasn't very reassuring to him when he had seen his best friend wolf-out with full intent to kill him. There were no rules, only weapons, and the trick was to avoid the dangerous bits.

"We tried Eichen and it didn't work. There was an incident at the school and Laura had to get you to your dad, she didn't even have time to call for help," said his mom. Stiles didn't remember that. He didn't remember meeting Laura Hale at all, ever, let alone being somehow rescued by her. It must have shown on his face because his mom rushed to reassure him it was not her unstable reality at the time that had planted the idea in her head that her son had been in trouble. "Talia told your father at the time, I found out later. He took you to Uncle Joe's for the weekend-"

That part Stiles did remember. A road trip to the mountains to play in a pool hall for three days, surrounded by bikers and loggers and a never ending supply of quarters for the arcade relics his uncle had kept in the bar back then. It still didn't make sense.

"But I was just a kid. I don't remember this stuff," said Stiles. "I mean, she said you messed with Dad's memory. He didn't know what was going on with me. Does he remember this stuff? Or did you just wipe us both out or-"

"You were barely nine years old, you didn't know what was going on," said his mom. And Stiles caught himself listening for the lie. He could tell she was scared, but she wasn't _lying_. If he could ask his dad, his dad would remember running from the hunters that weekend.

But that was all he would know because Talia and the pack did the rest after that. His mom told him that they pulled strings to get Claudia out of Eichen and home for almost two weeks before she was back in Beacon Hills Memorial from a seizure. Stiles was supposed to have been at the movies that night, but his dad got called into work and dropped him at Scott's instead. Later that night, Stiles had run home when he saw the ambulance at his house and nobody knew the boy wasn’t supposed to be there. There had been a plan but nobody told his dad and Stiles had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"But... Why?" he asked. The pack had gone to a lot of work just to have it all blow up in their faces. And he still didn't know why the Hales even bothered. He didn't know what he and his mom could do. "What is this stupid... thing? Why did they care about it so much?"

For the first time since he was eight years old, Stiles saw his mother actually smile. It added to his confusion but pulled back on some of the stress sitting in his shoulders. He sat up a little taller, willing her to have a better explanation than just the smile. She did.

“Because we run with the wolves.”

Stiles had to put some work into redefining his interpretation of the idea of a better explanation. It was better than silent communication but it was still something he already knew.

"Yeah, Gerard told me that much when he kicked my ass and sent me home to tattle to Scott and do his dirty work," said Stiles. "Chris told me-"

He stopped talking when his mom looked away. It didn't really help that Stiles could tell as she cycled through emotions, up and down and occasionally angry, her scent changing from smoky cedar to harsh panic a couple of times. It surprised him because he had certainly never noticed that about his mom before. He hadn't known she panicked like he did, but the older version of his mom sat in front of him a few feet away, trying to _hide_ panic. Unsure what had spooked her, Stiles held out a hand to draw her attention back and it startled her just enough to snap her out of the worry with an overriding fear. That lasted only long enough for her to focus on his face and realize who he was.

"Are you okay?" Stiles asked. Claudia nodded, an easy smile showing the change from the earlier brave front. Her breathing gradually got less raspy as she talked.

"I just... tried to keep them away from you," she said. "I worry too much. There's a lot that sneaks up on me. "

She didn't try to cover with a lie, too used to dealing with werewolves to be surprised that Stiles had noticed something she had tried to hide. It made Stiles a little mad, first that this place had caused it, but second that he couldn't remember seeing his mom show anything other than smiles as a kid until she got sick.

She was a real person, but he hadn't ever noticed. All it took for him to realize that was her supposed _death_ and magic resurrection years later.

 

***

 

The offer to help from Peter Hale didn't amount to much; the man left the apartment alone and hadn't been seen in days. Blair figured he was lucky for that. But a couple of teenagers as accomplices made him a new level of paranoid. Danny and Lydia were good friends. They bickered a little but generally followed each other's lead as they worked, trading papers or laptops without getting territorial. The data-scrape had worked and as far as Danny could tell, they hadn't been traced. So they retrieved the data from the cloud storage and, with a computer for each of them, began sorting through it all. Nobody broke down the door, Peter didn't show up expecting a miracle they couldn't deliver yet. It seemed to be working out okay.

Then Blair found a name on the inmate roster for the Sanctuary.

"Oh. Shit. Shitshitshit..." For a long moment, Blair got stuck on the bad news. He couldn't do anything to help Jim from where he was, at least not right away. It was small consolation that Stiles and Derek had confirmed Jim was still alive and well inside the Sanctuary.

"What is it? Did you find something?" Lydia asked. Blair had caught both teenagers' attention, both of them staring at him over the tops of their computer screens. Self-conscious of his sudden paranoia, Blair tried to shrug it off.

"Uh, yeah. I know one of the inmates," he said. Lydia nodded.

"Yes, we know. You told us. You know _three_ of them," she said.

"Well, now I know _four_ ," said Blair. He scrubbed a hand over his face as he weighed it out. "His name is Garret Kincaid. And that is _bad news_ for Jim."

"And Stiles?" asked Lydia. Blair nodded; Kincaid was a creep and if Stiles hung out with Jim then he was in the target zone.

"Wait, Garret Kincaid, the terrorist?" Danny asked. He must have googled it because he stared at the computer screen as he spoke. Lydia leaned over to look at what he found.

"The mastermind behind the Sunrise Patriots. They're all crazy. But they got so much crazier, and so damn _huge_ , when the Tea Party got going. Then _everybody_ wanted to join a militia. _Everybody_ wanted to fight The Man," said Blair. He shrugged and tried to move past it. "So now every few years the Patriots do something stupid, run a raid on a public place, take hostages and demand Kincaid's release. Jim and I were involved in most of them, I swear. It's just... They're crazy. He's crazy-"

" _Supernaturally_ crazy, if he's locked up with them," added Lydia, frowning at the screen. Blair nodded.

"But the list says he's in a different wing. Jim's marked down as in with the general population, but Kincaid's in Ward Six," he said. "Whatever that is."

"Ward Six is one of the locked levels," said Danny. He tapped and mouse-clicked and something kicked in on the wireless printer. Blair took the excuse to stand and chased it down. He walked back staring at an emergency-exit diagram of one section of the Sanctuary. It was above the general population wing, the floor with no windows. Then Danny snapped the detachable screen off of his laptop and held it out to Blair. "That won't print out right."

It was a night-vision, infra-red image of the same section. But it was lit up, a solid block of color with only a few dark shadows showing people in the wing.

"What is that?" Blair asked, comparing the schematic to the dark image. It looked like it was taken from the parking lot maybe, which meant Ward Six had outside access points because the first level of the Sanctuary had been dug into the ground. The lobby was on the second floor, the access to the yard in the center of the complex was a sub-level.

"Radiation. Way too much of it," said Danny.

"What kind?" Blair asked. "This is, like, right above their heads, man-"

"I haven't seen anything to explain it yet. There's just these pictures. We might not be able to find out without getting back into the state's systems again," said Danny. Blair flicked through the image files around that one, finding other exterior night shots of Sanctuary. Various places had a similar glow to them but those were isolated, in small pockets like an X-ray machine or the MRI. Ward Six was lit up like Christmas in comparison.

Feeling overwhelmed, Blair found the edge of the couch and sat down, still staring at the pictures of the prison.

"We're doing this wrong," he realized. He should have seen it sooner. Reluctantly, he handed the screen back to Danny. "This is never going to work."

"Yes it will," said Lydia. Blair didn't know her very well but it didn't take sentinel or werewolf senses to tell that she didn't believe it either.

"It won't. That place isn't just a prison. They're not just locking them up to throw away the keys. It's a lab, like Bly," said Blair. "The warden herself told me it wasn't but it is. And who the hell knows what they've got cooking up. If we get in, we have to get out, and we can't risk leaving a door open on our way out because we don’t know what this place has done."

Danny and Lydia stared at him, Lydia looking somehow mortally wounded. Blair shook his head, started moving to clean up papers. "I'm sorry. This was Stiles' idea and I thought maybe it would work. But it can't. Not with what these kind of labs do to people. I have to... Keep trying the way I was doing it before. Maybe if there's two of them now, the warden will let me in-"

"Two of what?" asked Lydia.

"Sentinels. Stiles is there because he's a normal, everyday, boring human with really sharp senses. That's it," said Blair. "I just have to go back to convincing _the warden_ of that."

Going silent, Lydia seemed to think it over, distractedly watching as Blair cleaned up the printouts they had made over the last week. He started to throw them away but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He wasn't giving up. Not exactly. But after having already put in two years to the project of infiltrating the government program behind the Sanctuary, a prison break seemed like the easiest way in. Now he knew better.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "Just get the files off your computers. Cover your tracks. I'll tell the sheriff and... He'll keep you informed."

He was half expecting an argument. It obviously didn't settle well with Lydia and Danny took his cues from her. But the girl just nodded and started shutting down her laptop. It was shoved in her purse and she was ready to leave a moment later. The girl didn't dawdle. She stopped in front of Blair, bag over her shoulder, and held out a hand.

"It was nice to meet you Detective Sandburg. And thank you for trying to help my friends," she said primly. It surprised Blair; that was the closest to nice to him that she had been since she shoved her way into the project. He nodded and shook her hand.

"Yeah. No problem," he said. Lydia nodded. That was his dismissal and she turned to Danny.

"I'll see you at home," she said. Then she turned to leave. Danny arched an eyebrow at her but didn't say anything. He started calmly shutting down his laptop for travel to follow her out.

Blair had the distinct impression he was being played, but he wasn't the suspicious sort.


	28. Chapter 28

Stiles was still trying to give his mom space to recover when Talia seemed to appear out of nowhere in the doorway. She had probably been paying attention the whole time and would have easily noticed when Claudia had problems. The sudden extra shadow in the room made Stiles jump though and it would have served her right to have two panicked Stilinskis on her hands. She was just looking out for his mom, and she was pretty good at it if she noticed the difference from another room. Stiles had stopped tracking Derek ages ago and felt guilty for getting distracted when Derek crowded into the room too. Talia moved to sit on the edge of the bed near Claudia, a careful greeting smile on her face. Werewolves didn't tiptoe like coyotes but they could walk around eggshells pretty carefully and Stiles wasn't sure if he was being treated like the fragile one about to shatter or if his mom was. He stood up, expecting to be dismissed by the alpha but Talia shook her head.

"We don't exactly have to be anywhere for awhile," she reminded him, the origins of her son's sass suddenly obvious. "We just came in to check on you."

It seemed legit from what Stiles could tell so he relaxed. He didn't sit down in his chair again though and instead pushed Derek toward it just to make more room in the small space. Catching the hint, Derek sat and Stiles held up the wall behind him.

"Are you two getting along okay?" Talia asked, like she hadn't been _snooping_. Stiles wanted to smart off, a part of him annoyed for it. He didn't though, since Talia had shown up to take care of his mom. And Stiles had no problem taking the excuse to hide behind Derek. So instead he crossed his arms and nodded.

Claudia looked from Talia to Stiles again. "What's this you were saying about Scott and Gerard?"

"Gerard's a jerk who won't just die-" Stiles cut himself off, surprisingly a little sensitive about wishing people dead suddenly. He shrugged. "I don't know. He keeps trying to puppet Scott around, but we don't know what he wants."

“He wants to live forever,” said Derek. He was watching Stiles, eyebrow arched like he was curious about something, like he was waiting for something, but he didn’t ask about whatever it was. Instead, he leaned his arms on his knees and looked back to their moms. “And he still wants to kill the monsters, doesn’t faze him at all that he’s one of them now.”

"From what you’ve told us so far, Scott is different," said Talia. "And Gerard knows it. That's why he lost interest in you and your role in things. Scott is more important to him."

"What's- He can't have _Scott_ , either!" The protest was indignant frustration; Scott had nobody at home to protect him now except girls who didn't know what they were capable of yet, a banshee still learning, and Chris. Those weren't good odds. His mom leaned forward like she would have stood up but she didn’t, just crossed her hands in her lap and settled.

"He's brought himself up, Stiles,” she told him. “This _True Alpha_ thing Victoria said Gerard wants? It's mercurial, unstable. He is unanchored and alone without a pack's strength behind him-"

"He has a pack," said Derek. His scent said he was just as confused as Stiles.

"He doesn't have _you_. You said he has the girls. No wolves, no spark. There is strength in numbers but he has no grounding force, no one in the pack to keep him human when he needs to be," said Claudia. Stiles shook his head; his mom didn't get it.

" _I'm_ still his pack."

Claudia motioned toward Derek. "No, you're with him."

Despite himself, Stiles felt his ears go a little pink. "Well yeah I'm _with_ Derek but that doesn't mean-"

Claudia waved a hand and shook her head, like maybe he was the one who wasn't getting it. "You're like me. You latched on to the Hale line."

Stiles' brain tripped. "You and _Talia_?"

There was a pause before Talia leaned back and laughed. Derek looked over at Stiles like he had lost his mind again. When Claudia caught on, she let out an exasperated sigh. " _No_. They are separate things-"

"I am so confused..." And yet Stiles was _so relieved_ because his mom wasn't supposed to be _with_ anybody not his dad. But it didn't help him figure out why the still-human Stilinskis had ever been on the Argents' hunter radar.

His mom stopped talking, apparently frustrated as she stared at a wall. Her gaze dropped to her hands and then she was animated again. She grabbed at her weaving project and held up two pieces of it, a length of braided cloth and the rug still taking shape.

"Scott's pack is this. It is a start. But it is by itself, alone... because he found physical strength by strength of _will_. But physical strength can be unraveled," she said. A little tug illustrated; the braid that seemed to be only three strands at first collapsed into shorter, shredded pieces that had been twisted together before being braided. Claudia swept the pieces out of her lap and held up the incomplete rug, passed it to Stiles. "This is made of the same pieces. Same patterns, same folds and knots. But you can't pull it apart so easy, can you?"

To humor her, he tried, but the knots held and the fabric only stretched a little. Stiles stood beside Derek as he poked at the rug, the both of them looking for the difference in the weave. Claudia didn't take it from them, only took one corner of it to spread it out a little better for them to see the tangled cloth.

"They're woven together. Individual strands all worked in together, working together to keep shape," she said. "This is a pack fully formed."

"But it's the same as the other, just bigger."

Claudia shook her head. "It's held together differently. The single braid is what starts it, so it held on to itself. But these strands are all tied together."

Stiles stared at the circular pattern of the woven rug, a spiral hardly noticeable spreading out from the center. Like the rings of a tree surrounding and protecting the softer core. Poking a finger at it, he realized there was a hole in the center where the starter had circled back on only itself to tie the other pieces to. "It's not complete at the center."

His mom glanced over at Talia, who gave a brief nod. "The True Alpha starts it all. But they're not complete."

It made sense and Stiles' confusion had faded. He looked from the craftwork back up to his mom again. "What's that got to do with us?"

Her smile came back and she held up her hands, palms up over the rug he still held between them. "We weave them together. They're human, but they're still more than that. The werewolves need a... Spark of energy to keep the pieces together. The friction, the static, folding them in... Us."

“But I was helping Scott...”

It seemed like, despite his confusion, he was on the right track because Claudia encouraged him. “And in helping Scott, you were moving toward the energy of helping a pack. And yet Scott rose up without a pack behind him, he’s stronger than you,” she told him.

Stiles disagreed on principle; it wasn’t that Scott was stronger than him, he was just more stubborn. It seemed to amuse his mom, which Stiles was gradually relaxing into.

She wasn’t like he remembered exactly, she seemed more distant and excitable, like he could get on really bad ADHD days, and Stiles remembered that his mom had always been the one to calm his mind. Now it was the opposite, she was the excited one and Stiles and his confusion were the only things slowing her down. She would try to explain and rush ahead a few ideas, only to backtrack when Stiles made a face. At least she was paying attention. So when he made a face this time, she paused and tried another approach.

“The wolf is constantly fed, by instinct, by nature, it’s just in the air,” said Claudia. She waved her hands to show the room they were in, to highlight the actual air around them. “They need the tie to human pack members to balance it out. And if there’s no human energy to draw on, no pack, then there’s nothing tying them to their human origins, so they move more easily between extremes.”

“Like Deucalion?” asked Stiles. His mom hadn’t been around for Deucalion’s downfall, however, so she didn’t understand his question at all. He shook his head with a _nevermind_ and tried to get her back on track to what he wanted to know. “If we’re just human anchors then what-”

“We’re not anchors, Stiles. We’re the spark. Without us, they’re...” Claudia paused and scooped up the small pieces that had fallen out of the starter braid. “An alpha can bring them together, but they’re not as strong. No energy. They need someone like us to do the weaving.”

“Humans in their pack,” he clarified, only to be corrected again.

“Human _sparks_ ,” Talia interrupted him. “You guide the energy. You keep it for us. It helps keep the pack strong and connected and-”

“Whole,” said Stiles, somewhat surprised as it clicked. And the only reason it clicked was because she had said they were a _guide_. That was a word that had taken on a strange significance for him lately. Whether he gave Derek the power or some kind of _spark_ did it, Stiles knew Derek was the only thing keeping him sane half the time because he could make things settle down. And if Derek was afraid of calling a _den_ what it was, maybe _he_ didn’t feel as put-together as Stiles thought him to be. If Derek thought he was two halves then he was missing something to make him whole. He was missing pack.

“Two people isn’t a pack,” Stiles realized, distractedly. Claudia shook her head in agreement with the observation.

“Two’s company, but _three’s_ a crowd,” she said.

Brow furrowed, Stiles snapped out of his mental headspace a little. “But I’m supposed to help?”

His mom had a strange energy to her, like a kid who was laughing at him, and it only confounded Stiles more. She had on the sad smile though. “I told you. You keep the energy for them, you keep them safe. Derek’s not like Scott. When he draws in his pack, you’ll be there to help. I met Talia when we were kids, but she didn’t pull in a pack for... just years. Not until after you were born.”

Stiles looked down at the rug he still held, at his hands. That somehow startled him. “Wait - what about the... the light? You burned the doorknob... then the thing that happened in the fight...”

“We keep the pack safe and connected, so they keep us safe. And sometimes that means we get to borrow a little of that supernatural energy we keep for them,” his mom told him. She took the rug from him, tugged him a step closer so she could turn his hands over in hers. They were just normal hands, nothing strange, no claws, no magic marks. Still, she studied his hands like she was looking for something, and Stiles stared at her because she was his mom, right there and alive.

“When we’re scared, so we can defend ourselves if they can’t?” he asked. She nodded.

“Or we can protect them when they can’t,” his mom said. She folded his hands closed and met his eyes with a smile. “They’re not perfect, you know. They’re only human.”

And Stiles laughed at that. He had been trying to tell people that for a year. Maybe now he knew why.


	29. Chapter 29

The sheriff's office was quiet when Blair got there that afternoon. It was a Tuesday, and Tuesdays were always dead. Stiles had been gone a little over two weeks and his dad spent way too much time at the office because of it. And Blair had nothing but bad news to add to the man's life. He had stalled as long as he could but he had a plane to catch if he wanted to try getting back into Warden Thompson's good graces. That was going to take a lot of work and he had already wasted nearly a week.

Sheriff Stilinski waved him in without formality and Blair closed the office door. He was too spent to pace, his usual energy gone for some reason, so he sat in the chair opposite the sheriff. The difference was noticed.

"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that's not a good sign," the sheriff said. Blair nodded.

"From what I found out, the Sanctuary is more than it claims to be. It's not just a prison, it's also what they classify as a research facility, looking into _containment_ of the _supernatural_ ," said Blair. "I've been to the one on the East coast. They have a loose definition of the word _research_."

The sheriff seemed to catch on.

"So you're saying they locked my son up in the new Area 51?" he asked. Blair nodded.

"Basically."

"So I take it you're shelving our side-project," the sheriff said. It wasn't a question.

"We have to. It's too dangerous for all of us," said Blair. "The best of the worst-case scenarios if we don't is they move our guys somewhere we can't find them. If I beg my way back in, maybe we can get somewhere. In the long term."

"Can you promise me you'll check in on him?" asked the sheriff. "I'll move if I have to, but it's been this long and not even a phone call. I don't think they'll let me see him..."

"They won't. It's basically a free-for-all where he's at. They don't send in guards," said Blair. "But maybe they'll let me go in. I don't know what else to try. I just know we can't risk a failed run on the place, and we can't be certain that anything that ran with them would be... human."

"My son is human. He's who I'm worried about," said Sheriff Stilinski. "Him and Derek."

"What about Derek's mom? Or Chris' wife?" asked Blair. He leaned forward in his chair, intent and focused and trying to make the sheriff understand. "The places I've been like this one, they're trying to deconstruct _magic_. They want to turn it all into repeatable science but you just can't. There's a chaos factor behind it all, some spark that makes it work, and that place tears everything apart looking for that piece. They _break_ people. What I saw back east? It sucks, man. We can't risk letting that out."

"I don't want my kid in it-"

"Yeah, that's why I gotta get back up there and try to get back inside. He's human, he's not the droid they're looking for, so I need to get that in their face and _keep_ it there," said Blair.

The sheriff didn't like any of it and Blair had to apologize again. He had screwed up, gotten the man's hopes up in an impossible situation, and now was stuck dealing the bad news. Stiles was probably going to kill him for it if he ever found out. Raphael McCall was probably right when he called them a lost cause. But Stilinski held it together, didn't freak out or get angry. He just nodded his head after a long minute.

"Do you need an escort to the airport?"

 

***

 

Mental peace was mostly achieved that day, at least in regards to Claudia Stilinski's terrible decision-making skills toward motherhood. Stiles saw that she had her priorities straight, family first and all that, but she would probably never convince him that faking her death was the best solution to overly enthusiastic hunters. In the interests of getting his mom back and keeping her this time, Stiles decided not to deal with the memories. He didn't have to. He could lock them up in the back of his brain and leave them alone, never to be visited again. In theory, anyway.

He spent the rest of the day with his mom, Talia and Derek making the random appearance to check on them and be social, and talked and played chess. Of all the stupid things to do in the world, they exchanged war stories. Stiles talked about how Scott wanted to literally and actually kill him a few times, or about how many times he had seriously suggested they kill Derek instead, and about how many times Derek had saved his stupid-ass from the weird world of the supernatural.

Somehow whether Derek was in the room or not, his name kept popping up in things. So Stiles' mom told him all about when Derek and Laura had lived with them. Talia was in Washington trying to figure out his father's sentinel thing without him around, so watching her kids was an easy favor. Stiles and Derek had been roommates when Stiles was a newborn and Derek was hardly four. Apparently Stiles had not only puked on Derek back then, he had peed on him once and screamed at him on a regular basis. They also shared bath-time for nearly a year. One of her stories pointed out that Derek at four years old was no good at changing a baby's diapers but he had tried (because he liked to be helpful) and between the two of them they had made a good mess of the living room. Stiles wasn't sure if he was traumatized or not, but his mom thought it was hilarious.

It was a slight catch 22, but Stiles managed to pry other things out that had nothing to do with him or Derek. Like how his mom had barely survived Eichen thanks to one of the orderlies there. She never learned his name so she never said anything to anyone, but Stiles had a good guess who the guy was. He didn't say anything to his mom about it, though.

She had been sent up to the Sanctuary by Scott's dad when he found her in another county with people he knew were Talia's friends. From what she said, Stiles guessed that was about the time his dad and Agent McCall had gotten into an actual fistfight about something; the next day Stiles' dad was detoxing from alcohol poisoning in the hospital and Scott's dad had left town for the millionth time. Meanwhile, Claudia Stilinski was shipped off to werewolf jail and booked under her maiden name because the Beacon Hills sheriff-coroner had signed off on her autopsy only weeks earlier.

She didn't latch on with another pack back then, only stayed with the two she had been brought in with. They had been killed sometime before Talia showed up and then Claudia had to rely on the Others to get through. She had been to a place she called Ward Six, too, but she said the scientists couldn't figure her out. She didn't heal, she wasn't a shapeshifter, and she didn't display any special super-powers. She was bit but didn't turn, so her best guess was that the spark made them immune.

The more her stories sunk in, the more it made sense to Stiles why Peter had left him alone even as he went after all of his friends. There was no guarantee that Stiles would have inherited his mother's gift, and there was no guarantee that he would turn either way. But going after Scott and Lydia narrowed the field down, because if Stiles would have been able to pick his own pack, they would have been his first-line. That wasn't something he could ask his mom about though.

Instead, he asked Derek, after dinner and after they had parted ways with the Hale pack for the night. They had their brand-new-to-them cell to go to and there was no actual room for them in the den. Stiles trailed behind Derek as they went in, distracted like he had been all through dinner. Derek crashed into the lower bunk and buried his face in a pillow like he was going to attempt to sleep. Stiles didn't fully agree with that plan and crouched beside the bed, arms crossed as he stared at the side of Derek's head.

"Did you know about the spark thing?" he asked. Derek looked over at him.

"Not until the Nogitsune... Showed up. Then I started putting things together," he said. "I had no way to know for sure."

"Our moms sounded pretty sure of it," Stiles replied.

"I'm pretty sure they're right," said Derek.

"D'you know why she said I can't be around Peter?"

The question made Derek grimace and cringe a little. He propped himself up on his elbows, giving Stiles more direct attention. He didn't like the topic, based on the shift in his scent. It made him nervous. That only made Stiles more curious.

"The energy the spark draws in... It has to go somewhere. You use it sometimes, just like food or something. But I've seen you pull too much before, like at the hospital. Lights flicker, electronics fry... You were threatened, the pack was threatened, so you started... Storing up?" Derek shrugged even as Stiles' eyes went wide. The surprise earned him The Eyebrow from Derek.

"Come on, Stiles. You've never stepped foot in a gym in your life. You haven't wondered how you're strong enough to keep up with us all the time?" Derek asked. Stiles shook his head.

"Well not really... I just figured you guys were full of fail if I could. I can't even play lacrosse-"

"But you kept me from drowning for two hours in a pool. You can chase Scott anywhere. You _broke a bat_ over an alpha's head. That strength under pressure is energy, it's what you pick up on and gave to the rest of us," said Derek. "So that is what the Nogitsune used you for. It's why you survived in the first place. It’s like the Nogitsune made you too strong and then couldn't get rid of you. I kind of figured that's why we got you back."

Stiles blinked at him, surprised. The Nogitsune had triggered the sentinel thing from his dad, but his mom's tie to the Hales had apparently saved his life.

"And if Peter ever got into your head, he could use it too. The same way," said Derek. "You draw in pack, you draw in power. That's an asset to a pack. If they can keep it safe."

"And Scott-"

"Scott can't. He just had an anchor, and that... Isn't enough. Anchors don't move. I couldn't go anywhere with one, I screwed up badly," said Derek.

"Mom said the spark is energy, and that's movement," said Stiles. Derek nodded.

"And that's how a pack survives. They keep together, moving," he said. He noticed how the realization hit Stiles and leaned a little closer, drawing his attention back from the worry that he had abandoned Scott to failing at something. "And now Allison's not there, so Scott _will_ figure it out. He'll be fine."

"But _we're_ not there, Derek," said Stiles.

"He'll figure it out," Derek repeated. "You can't fix everything. You helped me but it wasn’t enough to get through to Scott. You didn't have time."

Stiles scoffed, annoyed. "Who are we supposed to get through to here?"

"There's nothing saying we have to," said Derek.

"You need a pack," argued Stiles. Derek wasn't as concerned about it as he was.

"My mom has one. I'm fine."

"Yeah and I can tell when you're lying."

The call-out didn't faze Derek at all.

"You don't get it, Stiles. Back home... Pack is how to survive. You can't last long by yourself. We can't, anyway. Here, I have that pack and I have you. That's... It. That's enough. I'm fine."

There was nothing Stiles could argue that with. He probably hadn't meant to but Derek wasn't hiding behind the usual distance, his expression was open and everything about him was relaxed. When Derek lied lately, Stiles had noticed that his pupils dilated a little-tiny, barely-noticeable fraction that had meant an awful lot to him now that he could see it. That time there was no tell-tale scent wavering on the air, no blip on the heart rate, and his eyes stared right at Stiles' with no change. Still, Stiles pouted about the shut-down of another attempt to rile Derek into an escape plan.

"You suck," Stiles told him, halfheartedly offended. Derek rolled his eyes and settled back into his pillow.

"I'm going to sleep," he said. Stiles didn't argue so Derek turned his head to close his eyes. Crouched on the side of the bed, Stiles waited a moment, just watched him. Then he gave up and crawled into Derek's space, sprawled at his side and over his back to tuck under his arm so Derek couldn't ignore him. He didn't.

 

***

 

It was a short flight. Blair spent the entire ride staring out the window, ignoring his fellow passengers, which was something completely weird to him on hindsight. His brain was busy, though, and if he had slipped up and said something to some random stranger? Highly likely and very much not okay. He didn't know exactly what he was going to do but he needed to do something; every gut instinct he had told him he was about to lose what he had worked so hard for.

History repeated itself right in front of him and Blair had let it happen. There was no way he could just leave it alone. A prison break was out of the question. He wasn't going to get anywhere with Miranda relying on whatever currency he had built up over the last two years because there was nothing left of that. He couldn't play the game anymore, not after she used it against him and against Stiles and Derek.

The taxi pulled up at the curb just in front of Blair so he grabbed it rather than call Simon for a ride home. He nearly forgot to give the driver the address to drive to. Blair had never been so mentally stuck. His cell phone rang and he answered it on autopilot, not even looking at the screen as he swiped at it.

"Hello?" he said.

"Welcome home," said Miranda. Blair closed his eyes and thumped his head back against the seat a few times.

"Yeah, thanks. Not there yet but my plane landed, safe and sound," he replied.

"You're welcome."

"For the plane landing?" Blair hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"That and a few other things," said Miranda, surprising Blair past the point of comfort. He started looking around the moving taxi, outside and inside, fully paranoid.

"So what did you learn from the fact-finding mission to California?"

"Nothing useful," said Blair. And he didn't even have to lie about that one. "Stiles' dad's a nice guy. It sucks that his _only_ living family is in _prison_ in _another state_."

"Yeah, life's a bitch like that," said Miranda. She wasn't mad or sounding particularly menacing, she was just herself. But it was clear from her tone that their former friends-with-benefits status was no longer on the table as far as she was concerned, either.

"Do I still have an apartment or did it burn down while I was gone?" Blair asked.

"I assume it’s as you left it," said Miranda. "I haven't checked in on you."

"If you haven't been checking up on me then how did you know where I've been?"

"Agent McCall wanted to know if I had sent you down there. I told him I hadn't. Then he told me you left town and I did the math," said Miranda.

"Can I assume you were looking for me for a reason? Or is this just a social call?"

"I was wondering how attached you were to your job at the university."

"Excuse me?" Blair wasn't sure if she had just threatened him or not. His imagination was certainly telling him it had been a threat.

"I've got a project for you if you want a government contract and clearance," said Miranda. Blair's jaw dropped open. That was the exact opposite of anything he had expected.

"Are you kidding?"

"No, it's a legitimate offer. No strings. You would work for the program."

"Can I get back to helping Stiles?"

"He doesn't need help," said Miranda. "He's fine."

"Okay. We've been over this. _Jim_ is fine because he's been at this stuff for fifteen years. He already knows what he's up against. _Stiles_ is a kid. Not only that, his perception is literally through the roof, okay? So he has no control and no filters. The kid could actually go crazy," said Blair.

"He wouldn't be the first one."

If she had been in his presence, Blair likely would have been inclined to hit a woman. "No, he'd just be the first one I gift-wrapped for you. So fine, he's there, you win, but let me help him if I'm going to be there anyway. Just for the sake of _my_ sanity, which I'm assuming you want intact."

The sass seemed to work because Miranda went quiet for a moment. "Fine."

Trying to contain his relief and surprise, Blair looked out the window. The taxi was in his neighborhood so Blair pointed the driver to the parking lot behind the apartment building. Half distracted as he dug through his pockets for cash, he pushed his luck with Miranda.

"And I want to see Jim. No Jim, no deal," he told her. All business, no nonsense, no backing down. "I've been to every Program institution in the country, I've had access to any patient I wanted to talk to. Except yours. And you know me. So process of elimination says you've got Jim. If I'm going to work there, I want to work with him."

" _Now_ you're being stupid," said Miranda.

"No, I'm negotiating. Jim's my partner. If we're both going to be in the same place, he works with me," argued Blair.

"I can't let you around these people if you're going to forget they aren't all human," said Miranda. "You won't get any of them-"

"Hey! The ones I'm asking for are human!" Blair said. The cab driver looked at him funny for it but Blair shut him up with fifty bucks and no change. Blair slammed the door on his way out, barely remembered his bags, and went straight to his truck. Jim's truck. Whatever. "Stiles and Jim are human. Pureblood, straight through, pedigreed _human beings_. I've been telling you that since the start-"

"That doesn't make it true," said Miranda.

"No what makes it true is that it is true," said Blair. "And you know it. Even _Derek Hale_ is human. That's why this place exists at all. If they _weren't_ human, the hunters would have free reign. The G-men would look the other way and like five-to-fifteen percent of the country's population would be _dead_ by the time they hit twenty years old."

There was a long silence over the phone, which Blair filled with slamming truck doors. Then he was behind the wheel and ready to put the key in the ignition.

"So what's it going to be, Warden?" he asked. "You let me work with my _human_ friends and employ my brain for the next however long you want. Or I keep my tenure with the university and you and the G-men you run with can just shove it."

That was not what Blair had _ever_ wanted to say out loud. He had just thrown Jim and Stiles under a bus like it was no big deal. But _damn_ if it didn't feel good to get it out. The silence didn't feel so good but getting to tell-off the warden who had been stringing him along for years felt _great_.

"Alright. I'll see what I can arrange," said Miranda finally.

"See to it fast. I'm on my way out there now," said Blair.

"The paperwork is ready to go when you get here," the warden replied. Blair hung up the phone before she could change her mind. Just to cover his bases, he flipped on the waggler lights that announced to everyone on the street that the old F-150 was a police vehicle and sped out of his parking lot. There had to be a catch somewhere, but he would think about that when he read the fine print.

 

***

 

After clearing the air with his mom, the next few days got a little easier for Stiles in the Sanctuary. He didn't have so many people to avoid, for one thing. It was really kind of cool to have someone track him down and tell him his mom wanted to talk to him. She stayed in the den except for mealtimes and would send runners. Stiles didn't ask why she preferred the dark hole in the ground to a prison-view, but he did wonder how she got to send runners to do her bidding.

"It's not like she's the alpha," he reasoned to Derek as they headed off to see what they had been paged for. "She can't attack anybody with her teeth or anything."

Derek smiled, plenty of teeth showing. "No, but the alpha can and will on her behalf," he said. "So don't push it. You are not immune."

"Why not? It's my mom. She's not a queen or something. I can ignore her if I want," Stiles said. He had no intention of doing so, even if he still had his reservations about trusting her. She was alive, that was a huge improvement, but he was still stuck with the memory of growing up without her.

"In that pack, she _is_ queen," Derek replied.

"So, what? When you get a pack, _I'm_ queen then and get to order people around or you'll hack-and-slash to defend my honor," asked Stiles. "I'm not sure I'm cool with being your queen, honestly."

Despite the amusement, he was curious. It wasn't something they had talked about. They mostly avoided talking about anything remotely interpretable as being about _them_ , in any turn of the phrase. Derek stared at him a moment before he shrugged.

"That'll depend on if I can even tolerate you by then. You have this natural tendency to make me want to break things," he said. "I can't swear I'll be interested in defending your honor."

Stiles shrugged back at him.

"As long as it's not my neck, break whatever you want," he replied. "But I want _minions_. We should get on this pack thing for you."

"I'm not in a hurry," said Derek.

"Yeah, you didn't come up here for a pack," said Stiles. It had become a point of pride as much as a reassurance for him, that he had somebody who would walk away from everything just to stay with him.

"Nope." Derek shook his head. Stiles pounced on his back, a monkey that had to be caught or he'd drag the both of them down. He didn't care if it had rained and the ground was soft; they would just have to get muddy. But Derek caught him and Stiles curled over his shoulder, arms wrapped at his neck, and they didn't trip.

They didn't make it to the grove, though. Meyers cut them off just past the basketball courts. Stiles hardly had time to get his feet back under him because Meyers took advantage of Derek having his hands full to slash him across the face. The claws and fangs were out in a heartbeat and it wasn't a fight Stiles could get involved in. He cheated instead and stayed back to yell for Talia. He heard a noise come up behind him, heavy breath and quick heart rate enough to distract him from calling for help.

The werewolf that jumped him took him straight to the ground, face first in the grass and mud. With it went all his air because he was attacked low, around the middle, and his ribs took the brunt of the force from the side. The mud didn't help and Stiles worried he broke his nose as the werewolf kneeling on his back held his face in the grass with a clawed hand. The ambush came out of nowhere and didn't last long because Meyers had brought his full crew while Derek's only backup was trying not to _inhale_ mud. The wolf at his back dug claws in his neck and knees into his arms to keep Stiles still and it worked. He stopped bucking and tried to keep his head angled enough to breathe.

Stiles couldn't see the fight but he could still track it. He heard Derek get tackled, heard the hits he took. But he heard another sound, the hiss of a dart gun, and panicked. How did Meyers get one of _those?_ Ignoring the claws in his neck, Stiles shoved at the dirt for traction and tried to slide out but he didn't have a chance. The claws let go and the werewolf that had been kneeling on his arms stood up, so Stiles rolled to get away. He got a dart in the shoulder and within seconds was out like a light.

His last thought was that at least he hadn't zoned on the panic for once.


	30. Chapter 30

The amount and strength of tranquilizer required to sedate a werewolf was enough to kill the average human. Werewolves’ bodies healed too fast, processed the drugs too fast, unless it was packaged with aconite and the sedative was used at full potency. So the fact that Stiles survived it twice in two weeks was nothing short of miraculous.

The fact that he woke up because he heard Derek yelling in pain was just a panic attack he didn't need.

"Hey, calm down," came a familiar voice, quiet like he knew how bad Stiles' head was ringing. Stiles was blurry and couldn't focus, everything slipped up and down and Jim talking to him reminded him to use the dial trick. It helped a little. He felt dehydrated and sick, but at least he could see and hear and _no_ , he really wished he couldn't taste anything but he was out of luck on that one. Gagging from the taste of the drugs that had slammed his system startled him out of the panic and he sat up, just breathing. Ellison handed him a water bottle and it was emptied in seconds, doing nothing for the sour taste in his mouth but at least it was water to fight back the desert.

"Where's Derek?" he asked. It took him twice to get the words out loud enough to make sense. Jim shook his head.

"Ward six. No, we can't get to him," he said. "Not unless you know how to break through concrete walls twenty feet up in the air."

"You can hear him? I'm not-"

"Crazy, no. He's there," said Jim. "Meyers and his crew took him. They do the ward's grunt work. And it didn't help that Derek kept pissing them off-"

"Derek didn't do anything," argued Stiles, defensive and annoyed. "We were just going out to see my mom. She sent somebody. We didn't do anything."

"Settle. Something put him on their radar, that's all I meant," said Jim. Stiles didn't really settle, he just wasn't capable of moving without falling on his face yet. He blinked as he looked around, recognizing the dark shadows and dirt walls of the den. He heard footfalls in the tunnel that served as a hallway and looked toward the door even as Jim did. Stiles saw Talia and his mom walk in and was surprisingly relieved. He started to say something and then cringed, Derek yelling breaking through again. It was faint but he recognized the voice clear enough.

"He'll be fine," said Jim, quiet. Stiles held his hands over his ears anyway, just enough to block the sound. His mom looked concerned and hung back, looking to Jim like he could tell her what to do, while Talia moved to check on Stiles. She checked his pulse and stared at his eyes and he was offended on principle. It was a Hale thing probably so he didn't move away, just tried to distract himself from the ghost sounds he could still hear.

"You sound better," she said.

"Define _better_ ," grumbled Stiles.

"Well, it's the first time in three days you've got more than a shadow of a heartbeat," said Talia. "For the first day, Jim was the only one who could tell you were even alive."

" _Three days?_ " Stiles nearly tipped off the cot. He looked to Jim. "Has he been like that the whole time?"

Ellison nodded.

"He who what?" Claudia asked, confused. Talia looked back at her.

"These two can hear Derek," she explained. Claudia held a hand over her mouth to keep quiet but she looked like she understood. Stiles shook his head because they still didn't get it.

"Derek. I want Derek," said Stiles, not caring that he sounded like a three year old demanding candy. Talia pressed her hand to his forehead, checking for fever. Stiles shook her loose and leaned away, a little equilibrium back out of sheer stubbornness.

"We can't get to him," said Talia. "They'll bring him back."

"Not good enough," said Stiles.

"That's _how it is_ here," said Talia. "Meyers collects his bounties and the ward sends them back. We can't do anything about it."

"We can kill Meyers," said Stiles. He was perfectly serious.

"He took over from the last one we killed," said Talia, just as sober as he was about it. "The hydra grows another head."

"Then we leave," said Stiles. He felt the panic threatening and looked to his mom. She stood behind Talia, intentionally not crowding him. "We can't stay here. No."

"Stiles... We're open to suggestions. But this is the best we have here," said Talia. "This space. Every time we've tried to beat the Sanctuary before, we failed."

Stiles shook his head. "No. We can't stay here."

He didn't have anything to offer other than that. He could still hear Derek and it kept pulling his attention away. There was no guarantee that he was even hearing what he thought he heard. Maybe it was in his head. But it was _ruling_ his head, he couldn't shake it, couldn't think around it. He felt everyone staring at him, no one saying anything.

And that's when it hit him: if there was a way out, Talia or Jim or his mom would have found it. They had been there for _years_. What made him think they hadn't tried everything he could have thought up? He had been ignoring the facts the whole time but he couldn't get around it anymore.

It was probably the drugs he was still fighting off but Stiles gave up then. His mom sat down on the edge of the pitiful excuse for a mattress and wiped a cloth at his cheek. Stiles leaned on her and hid his face against her shoulder. He had almost nine years with just his dad, keeping his dad going, and his dad kept him going. So maybe the next nine were supposed to be with his mom, some kind of new nine-year plan to work on.

Except his mom smelled like his dad just a little bit, like everything _home_ , and she spent all her time around Talia and Talia's scent reminded Stiles of _Derek_. And he didn't want to _hear_ Derek in pain anymore.

"Fine, I don't care," Stiles finally said, not really talking to anyone. He just wanted to get the negotiations started; _something_ had to work. "We don't have to go anywhere. I just want Derek back."

Nobody said anything to that either, but his mom hugged him, held her hands over his ears, and kissed his forehead. It just wasn't the same; it didn't count.

 

***

 

Stiles counted the days that Derek was out of the yard. Three days drugged into a coma and two more days wishing he was still oblivious. He spent most of them in the den, because when he went into the cafeteria for mealtimes with everyone else, he heard Derek talking or growling or shouting. Jim couldn't always hear him, so Stiles was pretty sure he had just started imagining things, but there was no way to _know_. The uncertainty was just as painful as listening to it all.

It was the fifth day of no Derek. Stiles outright refused to leave the corner of the den's common room that he had taken over after waking up. He had discovered on accident that he could cross the mountain ash line again. He thought about actually claiming the corner with what was left of the stash they had given Jim. If Stiles’ mom rarely went outside, there was nothing saying he had to. Except Jim, who was worried about the headache Stiles was going to have when he finally did go back out into the world where he had to deal with sunlight and sound and fluctuation in temperature.

"Maybe you're a little too tuned-in to him, chief," said Jim.

 "Maybe I am but I'm not sure how to just turn that off," said Stiles. "I tried the dial thing. It mutes everyone _except him._ "

"That's in your head." Jim wasn't being judgey, just disappointed maybe, and he seemed sympathetic. "Just because you can sense things other people can't doesn't guarantee those things actually exist. You can still be driving yourself crazy here. And everybody in your general vicinity while you’re at it."

Stiles had a book in his hand, one he had been attempting to read for a distraction, as an illustration of the tricks that weren’t working. "So what's the trick to blocking it out then?"

Because Jim Ellison was a veritable fountain of wisdom, the man just sat across the table from him and shrugged. "Find other things to think about that aren't him."

"Like what? Not exactly a lot going on in this place," Stiles pointed out. He barely managed to contain his frustration with the conversation that was completely not helping him. Jim added to the not-helping by lifting a hand and knocking his knuckles lightly against Stiles’ forehead.

"You were the one quoting the POW mantra at me when you got here. First duty of a prisoner of war is escape-"

"This isn't much of a war. _They_ won,” said Stiles, interrupting because he was getting actually mad at Ellison’s total switch in viewpoints. A week earlier the man told Stiles to grow up and stop daydreaming about leaving and now he was telling him to _make plans_. “First duty of anybody _locked in jail_ is to _stay alive_."

Ellison shrugged it off and shook his head. "It just means you figure out ways to leave. Even if it's just flapping your arms someday and flying away. It's something to _think_ about."

“No, it’s something stupid to get hung up on,” said Stiles. “Derek said so from the start. Before I even got here. And he thought I was crazy when I talked about it before. Blair thought I was crazy and made me medicate-”

“So what? Neither one of them are here at the moment, and none of us can get in your head,” said Jim. “Plot and plan and scheme all you want. We’ll get you a pen and paper, it’ll keep you busy.”

Stiles cast a glare at him. Busy dreaming was the last thing he wanted. Hope was not helpful at that particular moment in Stiles’ life. It certainly hadn’t gotten him anywhere yet and he’d been at it for weeks. He shook his head and turned his attention back to the paperback he had found in the den. Jim would catch the hint and leave him alone if he ignored him hard enough.

He didn’t really have to put the effort in because he heard shouting from outside. Not trusting his hearing anymore, Stiles looked to Jim for confirmation.

“Victoria. She wants Talia,” said Jim. Stiles nodded because that was what he was hearing, too; the proof that he wasn’t completely crazy made him feel a little better. A moment later the potential reasons for Victoria yelling for Talia Hale settled into Stiles brain and the rest of him lept off the table bench.

“Derek!” He managed not to yell but only because his gangly legs tripped him up trying to climb off the bench and he was distracted.

“You don’t know- you’re just going to get your hopes up again,” said Ellison. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“You need to make up your mind. I’m either supposed to get my hopes up or I’m not, can’t do both,” he pointed out. All the same, Jim followed after Stiles. Still sporting shiners from his fights over the last two weeks, the man had appointed himself Stiles’ bodyguard at the prison again and even chasing after a wild hare was something better to do than stare at the walls. But Stiles didn’t let the guy tell him what to do.

They raced out of the tunnel and Stiles was slowed up by the sudden glare of sunlight, something he hadn’t seen in days. Jim caught his shoulder and steered him in the right direction and Stiles squinted as he ran after the man. Victoria wasn’t yelling any more so Stiles had to rely on Jim’s direction since he was half blind until his eyes adjusted. When they came over the hill though he saw Derek walking up toward them and let out a whoop of relief. The fact that Derek was covered in blood took another second to register.

“Derek?” he called out as he ran. He saw Derek nod but the guy wasn’t moving so good, stiff and in obvious pain. He tripped over his own feet. Stiles caught him at the shoulders just in time to keep him upright and Derek only swayed on his feet rather than fall. He latched on to Stiles’ sides and pressed their foreheads together because it was easier than holding his own head up.

“Derek? What the hell happened? Are you okay?” Stiles asked. Derek only got heavier and Stiles had to help him sit on the grass before he fell on it and rolled down the hill. Jim crouched beside them.

“Get his pulse,” the other sentinel ordered. “I can barely hear him in there.”

Stiles was already pressing back against panic at that very realization. The problem was that Derek wasn’t sitting up on his own anymore. He had slumped against Stiles, his mouth moving like he was trying to say something but there was no sound at all. Jim set a hand to Stiles’ shoulder as he stood back up.

“Keep him awake. I’m going to go get Talia,” he said. Stiles nodded, looked up when Jim ordered someone to watch over him. Victoria stood nearby, another ghost of the Sanctuary who had done little more than haunt him the past week; they stayed out of each other’s way, particularly with Derek being MIA, so the woman standing in as their bodyguard was a momentarily baffling distraction. Then the crowd started to tighten around them and Stiles was glad the woman didn’t hold grudges. Derek reclaimed his full attention when he stopped trying to talk and closed his eyes, face tucked next to Stiles’ so the change was impossible to miss.

“No no no no no... You stay awake...” Stiles tried to shake him back to awareness but it didn’t work when the man was just barely not in his lap. He carefully set him down so that Derek was lying flat but that didn’t mean he was going to let the guy sleep. He started tapping and clapping his hand carefully against Derek’s cheeks to try to bring him back around. “You don’t get to go comatose on me, big guy. I do that. You don’t. Don’t you dare.”

But Derek didn’t open his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I feel that, to avoid being lynched, i should remind you to _check the tags..._


	31. Chapter 31

The fine print on the Sanctuary contract was actually pretty bold, Blair learned. Because of his association with the police department, the Sanctuary could have _borrowed_ him any time if they wanted, but only if they upped his clearance. That came with a pay upgrade, too, and the Cascade PD would never go for it. Simon would kill him just for asking.

So Blair's options were either to walk away from the offer or to sign a contract with the government that had a confidentiality clause so airtight that if he ever thought about quitting, he'd find himself up on treason charges. It now made perfect sense why he was being offered a job. If there was anything Miranda knew about him, it was that Blair couldn't keep his mouth shut about the simple stuff. They were betting he would talk and commit a legally-enforceable crime all on his own, a nice excuse to sweep him under the rug. They were probably right. Why go to all the effort of a frame-up job or knocking him off when they could just string the anthropologist along with enough rope to eventually hang himself with?

The problem was that Blair really didn't care about the Sanctuary at all. The big gray-glass walls were just walls and the thugs behind it were just thugs. They didn't need a contract from him to prove that; someday, whether he signed it or not, they would find some excuse to take him out. That was just how they worked. Conspiracy theories weren't new to Blair. He had fought a long time to pretend he wasn't embroiled in one and now he gave up. A spade was a spade and a corrupt branch of government was corrupt. The Sanctuary and every place like it was just proof. And he wasn’t even going to get started thinking about the hunters.

So Blair signed up. It got him what he wanted: inside, upper-level access.

It also got him a stack of books on multicultural mysticism that needed translated from their English translations into something that made sense to _science_. He had to, essentially, prove the magic existed how the old writings said it did. He got an office that looked out on the yard and a library of work to be done.

But he didn't get a hall-pass to go see Jim or Stiles. The warden kept stalling him on that. Naturally then, without official permission to see them, Blair spent more time watching the yard for his friends than he spent doing the work. He showed up early and left late, for a week straight. But he never once saw any faces he recognized.

When he finally did catch sight of one of them, he saw the others shortly thereafter. But what he saw wasn't good. It wasn't a _surprise_ in a prison but it wasn't good.

"Crap, don't do it, don't do it..." Blair muttered, his face inches from the window. Three stories below, Derek Hale picked a fight with a ragged looking werewolf probably not much older than him. And the other guy had back-up. Derek just had an impressive set of claws and a lot of anger.

It wasn't much of a fight. It got broken up by a crowd shoving the other fighters away from Derek. Derek no longer had the claws out and things were yelled back and forth but Blair would have needed Jim or Stiles to have understood any of it. He watched the fighters heal up - he had heard about that but never seen it and it boggled his brain - and then looked to find Derek again. He found him half way up a low hill in the middle of the yard, not quite to the trees. It was hard to tell but it didn't look like he was healing.

Blair's interpretation of the rough way Derek was moving was backed up a moment later when he saw Stiles break from the trees, Jim and a few other people chasing after him. Stiles all but tackled Derek in a hug that the man barely caught. The only reason he didn't fall over was Stiles holding him up.

This was so much worse than _not_ being there, Blair realized quickly. He had a pane of very thick glass between him and trouble and he was safe enough. But his friends were in the middle of it. Being a spectator sucked, which was why Blair had become an anthropologist, because he wanted to be in the middle of _everything_. He pounded a fist on the glass, knowing it wouldn't hurt anything except maybe himself to express that particular frustration.

"Screw it," he decided. They could fire him if they wanted. He moved back to his desk and grabbed his badge, the one that now had level-six clearance, and his backpack with the closest thing he had to a first aid kit in it, and headed for the lower levels of the building. There was no sense waiting for the warden's permission when he had a badge as high up the food-chain as hers. If it didn't get him where he wanted to be then someone along the way would tell him and Blair would tell them where to shove it. Either way, he figured he would end up in the yard.

He made it down to the nearest low-security wing with yard-access and through the first round of security. There, one of the humans employed for catching the computer's mistakes caught on to the fact that they hadn't been properly introduced to Blair. He waved his badge at them and it worked. They would let him in but they wouldn't send an escort.

"I'm not worried about an escort, just let me in," said Blair.

"But how long will you be? It's a timed lock," said the guard.

"I don't know, just let me in when you see me," returned Blair. "Open the damned door!"

"If you're not back in the next five minutes we can't open the door again for a half hour," the guard told him. Blair didn't give a damn and made it clear. The guard let him through.

Blair walked into the antechamber that served as an extra buffer of security, a room that could probably be gassed before the doors opened to let him out either way. It was a stark reminder that this was not the average jail. The room buzzed and another door opened, letting Blair out into a long row of jail cells, every door locked closed and blue lights flashing. The door behind him closed and the lights stopped. As Blair jogged down the corridor, the cell doors opened. A few people came out to see who had come inside but Blair kept moving. Whatever security detail he might hope to improvise with was still out of hearing range so he wasn't going to screw around being social.

He followed the cell block out into a larger room with tables and a few people scattered around. That didn't help him. He spotted a set of double doors that seemed to be in roughly the right direction - he was so turned around by the hallways everywhere - and tried them. No alarms went off and Blair was rewarded by gray-tinted sunlight from the world outside in the yard.

A small crowd was still gathered at the hill so Blair broke into a run and aimed for the scene. He shoved his way through to find Stiles kneeling next to a sprawled out, passed out Derek, trying to wake him up.

"What happened? He was walking away-" said Blair. He was winded but could get his point across. As Stiles looked up at him, confusion plain, Blair shook his head. He fought with his backpack to drag out the kit. Derek was all slashed up, the unfortunate side effect of picking fights with werewolves. "Why isn't he healing?"

"If you’ve got any clue what they did him, I'd love to hear it," said Stiles. He was somewhere between angry and panicked and Blair chose not to read in to it just yet.

"I watched him pick a fight with somebody," said Blair. He waved around at the people nearby. "And these guys broke it up. But they- I thought werewolves healed?"

" _He's_ not," said Stiles. "And that's never happened before and I'm _not_ okay with it."

"Sandburg?"

Blair looked up, distracted from checking if Derek was even breathing. He saw Jim run up, a couple of dark haired women rushing past him to get to Derek. Stiles went back to shaking Derek even as the two women started pawing at him to check for signs of life. It dragged Blair's attention back and he started digging into the home-made first aid kit for the spices he had always relied on to bring Jim around; maybe a werewolf's senses were strong enough to react the same way.

"He's not breathing," one of the women said. He knew the voice. Blair got a good look at her then and swore out loud. _Of course_ an old girlfriend was in with the werewolves. And if Samantha was a wolf, that explained why Jim was dragged into things at all. The forensics tech had painted a target on the Cascade PD and Blair and his thesis drama only made it bigger and harder to miss. It had only taken the Feds _fifteen years_ to find something to snag Jim on. Blair shook it off and looked to the teenager currently taking up the most surface space around Derek.

"Stiles? Do you know CPR?" he asked. "Otherwise let Sam or me get-"

"No," said Samantha. She looked to the woman beside Stiles. She seemed familiar too but Blair didn't have the time to figure out why.

"No? You've got a small window here-" he said. Samantha shut him up with a hand over his mouth, acknowledgment enough that she remembered him.

"Claudia, can he fix this? Can either of you-" she trailed off, anger and frustration on her voice. "You can fix this."

"Stiles, help," said Claudia. She didn't wait for a response, just moved one of Stiles’ hands from Derek's jacket collar to his neck, palm against a three-day scruff. Blair deemed it a werewolf thing and pulled back, giving them space. Maybe it was a guide thing, maybe it was a boyfriend thing, but whatever it was they seemed to know more about it than he did.

"What? What do I do?" Stiles asked.

"What do you feel?" The woman held his hand to Derek's throat just over where his pulse was. With his senses, Stiles should have been able to feel even the faintest heartbeat.

"Nothing. There's no-" The surprise took all color from Stiles' face. Blair gaped.

"No way, man. He was _fine_! He was walking away!" He might have been a little louder than necessary with the kid's sentry senses probably maxed but Blair couldn't figure it out. The kid had to be missing something. " _Listen_ then, Stiles. You can _hear_ him-"

"I can't! Okay? He's dead! He's not-" Stiles stopped yelling back at Blair and stared down at Derek. He looked like he was having a panic attack, which Blair knew well enough would lead to a zone out and that was the last thing they needed. But Stiles still barely had a voice. "He's _not dead_."

"I told you-" Blair went quiet when Samantha held a hand over his mouth again. She looked ready to murder him if she had to but they were both quickly distracted by Stiles. He had shifted his hands, one hidden under Derek's bloody torn shirt over his heart as the one at his neck fanned out across his collarbone.

The skin of his already pale hands started glowing white.

"Oh. Crap..." Blair kept back when Samantha pushed him away from Derek. This was definitely not a sentinel thing. The light spread from Stiles' hands to Derek's skin, pulsing lines fading out as it moved away. The grief on Stiles' face eased as Derek's expression started to show pain. Pain meant he was alive. That wasn't possible- Blair's brain went on overload trying to figure out how Stiles, a plain and simple human sentinel, could bring somebody back to life. He was just a _kid_! How did he tap into that kind of magic?

Then Derek was gasping for breath, eyes open. He raised a hand to latch on to Stiles' as the whatever-Stiles-did faded out and the two were no longer _glowing_. Stiles crumpled over Derek, his arms curling around his head on the grass as he ducked down to shield him or hug him, who knew. But Derek was alive and moving. Samantha caught his hand since Stiles refused to let Derek sit up.

Blair leaned back over his heels, not sure yet what he had witnessed. When he looked up, he saw Jim standing across from him, staring at him. His friend had brought him back to life once, too. Blair had been a little busy being dead at the time, so he had no idea if the saving play was anything near that flashy and impressive _from the outside_ , but there was no easy explanation for how Jim had managed to bring him back either. Blair managed a slight shrug and a halfhearted grin.

"Must be a sentinel thing after all," he said.

"I swear to god, chief, you better not run any tests on that one," Jim replied. Blair held up his hands to back away from the idea.

"Nope, guides are better not-dead. No trial and error necessary."

 

***

 

Curled over Derek in as much of a hug as he could manage without letting him move, Stiles tucked his face to Derek's neck to feel his pulse. Rapid and strong and he was _alive_. After days of hearing him in pain, watching him die was actually terrifying. That wasn't why Derek had come from Beacon Hills, not to be killed. That wasn't allowed. Not like that.

"What did you do?" Derek asked, his voice quiet next to Stiles' ear. In the chaos that was his perception of life at the moment, Stiles’ senses were up and down but he was hyper-tuned into the man and would have heard a whisper. He kissed him for it.

"I got scared," he said. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead to Derek's. "Don't leave me here. Not okay."

He felt Derek's arms wrap up around him finally and _nope_ Stiles wasn't crying over it, _nope, not at all_. A long minute later Derek asked to be let up and Stiles just shook his head. The arms tightened around him then as Derek leveraged off of his weight - _the sneaky cheater_ \- and pulled Stiles closer as he sat up. Stiles just wrapped his arms around his shoulders instead of his head and didn't complain about being dragged into Derek's lap. He was strong and he was alive. He was bloody, too, but that didn't fully register.

"Come on, man. We gotta get you checked out," said Blair, somewhere off behind Stiles. "What the hell were you thinking? Picking a fight with four guys. Jeeeze."

"I was thinking the bastards needed to die," said Derek. He was still being quiet because Stiles was still in his space.

"Well it's not like that actually answered my question, but we'll roll with it," said Blair.

Stiles kept his side tucked up against Derek's, feeling the man's heartbeat even as he listened for it. Jim thought he was too tuned in to Derek _before_ and those minutes of absolute silence from the man did nothing to make Stiles pull back from it.

"What happened?" he asked. Derek shook his head.

"I shouldn't have gone after Meyers. I wasn't strong enough. I couldn't... I don't know. Nothing worked," he said. He stared down at his hand in Stiles' lap and turned it palm up. He flexed his fingers and claws suddenly existed, which seemed to confuse him. "I couldn't hold the wolf. I couldn't stay there to fight."

"It wiped you out trying," said Talia. "Which makes me worried about what they did to you over the past week."

Based on the change in his heartbeat and breathing, that wasn't a topic Derek was open to discussing. Blair angled closer, fully confused and concerned all over again.

"Wait, what happened this week?" he asked, looking from face to face for an explanation. Derek didn't volunteer and Stiles shifted how he sat just slightly to put himself more fully between Derek and the question.

"Don't ask," he said.

"Like hell," returned Blair.

"Ward six happened, Sandburg," said Jim. "Leave it alone."

That shut the man up. It made him angry and anxious but he nodded acceptance of it. "We gotta talk," was all he said.

"Yeah, no kidding," agreed Jim. Talia looked between the two men before she glanced over at Stiles and Derek. She seemed to be taking inventory, checking faces in the crowd, seeing who was around. Then she looked to Blair and his backpack. There was also a lanyard around his neck attached to a laminate card in his jacket pocket.

"When do you have to be back?" she asked Blair, her voice quiet. Blair looked around like she had.

"Uh. I had a half hour minimum," he said. He scrunched his nose up, looking suspiciously guilty. "That's one of the things I gotta talk about."

Talia nodded. Stiles stared at her, confused despite himself. She seemed really comfortable with Blair around considering how she had treated Stiles when he first showed up. She put a hand to Stiles' shoulder and gave a gentle push. "Let's get these two out of sight for awhile."

Stiles looked up at the windows high over the yard. He reluctantly nodded. Jim stood beside his mom and held out a hand to help him untangle from Derek as back up to Talia's hint. Derek pulled back enough to show he wasn't arguing so Stiles didn't. The second he was clear, Talia and Blair were trying to help Derek to his feet. He stood unbalanced for a moment, staring down at his shredded and bloody shirt. Talia settled the worry when she lifted the shirt and checked that the gashes had all started to heal if not disappeared.

Stiles looked down at his own clothes and shrugged off the mess. As long as Derek was okay, Stiles could get over a stained shirt. He noticed his hands still had some blood on them and wiped them off on his own shirt as an afterthought. Then he pawed them at Derek when he got in reach, since the mess was Derek's anyway. Derek just caught him around the shoulders and started walking him toward the den, tucked up close behind him. Stiles didn't argue, only looked around to be sure his mom and Jim were coming too.

He looked back in time to see Blair go from minding his own space to launch a hug at Jim. It made Stiles stop because Jim was like Derek, he didn't let people in his space much, and Stiles worried there was going to be a fight. But instead Jim folded into the hug like he needed it. They were too far away but Stiles could tell Blair was saying something to Jim, too quiet for him to hear. Jim just nodded and looked like he squeezed Blair's shoulders tighter.

"Yeah, I got it, Chief. I know," Jim said. He was quiet, too, but Blair didn't have super-sensitive hearing so Jim couldn't hide as well. It confused Stiles a little. Jim was usually in trouble lately because of Blair, but Stiles hadn't seen the walls go down before like they so obviously had the second Blair got the vice-grip around Jim's ribs.

"Jim? We need to get Blair out of sight," said Talia. Adding to Stiles' confusion, she reached out and had a hand to Blair's back as she talked. "I don't want to risk a riot. And I don't want them coming after him out here."

Stiles still noticed that Blair had to let go of the hug before Jim would. He decided those two didn't make any sense and let Derek get them walking toward the den again.


	32. Chapter 32

"I'm sorry. I must be going crazy because it sounded a lot like you just said you work for these assholes."

Jim was pissed. In the last few weeks, Stiles had only seen that look on the sentinel's face when there was about to be a knockdown brawl. They had kicked everyone out of the den and taken over the common room, so there was plenty of space for one if it was in the cards. Stiles looked to Derek, not sure if Derek should be anywhere he might risk getting involved. Not that he wanted to abandon Blair to an ass-kicking, but Derek had been _dead_ and that was probably _a little_ hard to come back from. Blair only seemed his usual levels of fidgety. The man pulled a plastic-laminated card out of his inside jacket pocket and held it up to show Jim.

"As a consultant all I managed was to get a couple of kids locked up, okay? Now I have clearance. _Now_ I can get in here. Or other places if I need to. _Not_ a consultant, which means maybe I can get things done right this time," said Blair.

"That won't do anything, Sandburg. Except maybe get you a one way trip inside the walls with the rest of us," said Jim. Blair shrugged it off.

"Fine. I am tired of wild goose chases across the country wondering where you are. At least then I _know_ ," he said.

"Knowing doesn't make it easier," said Talia. She actually looked worried. "It's worse when there's still nothing to be done."

"I'll cross that bridge when it gets here," said Blair. "But I'm here now. Fourth floor. Big fish-tank window along one wall-"

Nobody was supposed to be impressed by the posh new office. Talia narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, makes you feel great doesn't it."

"That's beside the point, Sam," said Blair, waving her off.

"Who is Sam? She's _Talia_ ," said Stiles, interrupting. If Blair thought he was on a wavelength with somebody else, they needed to clear it up just to be sure the man wasn't going crazy this time. He pointed to Talia and corrected the snag as he saw it. "Derek's mom. Not a Sam."

Blair looked from Talia to, strangely, Jim. Jim nodded, his usual grudging roll of the eyes and a shrug in confirmation. For once, Blair seemed stuck.

"What-"

"I was looking into you for Claudia. And my family name catches attention I didn't want," said Talia. It took a moment for Blair to stop looking like he had choked on air but he eventually nodded.

"Right. Claudia- that Claudia?" He looked to Stiles' mom.

"Yeah, my dad had the sentry senses for awhile. Then they figured out how to take him offline, from whatever you told Talia," Stiles offered up. Blair still seemed like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Trying to provoke some signs of life, Stiles motioned toward where his mom stood near Talia. "Long story short, that's my mom, Claudia..."

The information didn't seem to help Blair any. "Oh my god _are you kidding_ \- I told you we needed to know stuff like that-"

"We _didn't_ know," said Derek. His voice wasn't fully back yet. Stiles frowned at him.

"Wait- you had _kids_?" Blair had to be talking to Talia but he sounded alarmed, catching their attention back. Stiles scoffed.

"Yep. Me and Derek were roommates before, too. Nobody knew that either. Well, we didn't," said Stiles. He pointed at Derek. "He didn't know how to change diapers. Sounded like an _awesome_ time."

Blair gaped at them. Then he raised his hands and waved everything off. "Okay. Never-mind. Moving on."

"Thank you," said Derek and Talia both. Blair shook his head as he looked to Derek.

"Don't say that yet, you're just going to take it back," he said. He was completely serious, all of his usual energy replaced with sobriety and focus. His attention turned to Derek. "I need to know where you've been and why. What they did and what they wanted. Because I don't think they'll let me have their notes and I sure as hell don't want to give them any of mine that could add to whatever it is they are trying to do."

Suddenly Stiles missed the embarrassing stories from his mom that would have saved them from the painful stories Blair was asking for.

"Why would you have anything about Derek?" he asked.

"Not about him." Blair waved a hand around to indicate the group they stood among. "Shapeshifters. Werewolves. The unexplained _whatever_ that makes it all work. They're trying to... Figure that out. And I don't want to get somebody killed just trying to play along."

"What did you think would happen taking a job here?" Jim asked, the man's frustration still at the surface. "Did you even think about it, Sandburg?"

Blair turned on the bigger man, his own anger finally making it out. He wasn't being cornered into quitting like Jim seemed to be after. "Yes! And I am also aware that the only reason they gave me the job was to shut me up until I can disappear. So that was my option, Jim. Ignore them and have somebody run me off the road someday on my way to work, or take the offer and play the game. I'm playing. I've learned too much the past two years to _walk away_ , okay? No."

"They won't let him anyway," Talia pointed out. She wasn't happy but she wasn't angry like Jim. She crossed her arms and squared her shoulders, a wall behind Blair to back him up. "There's nothing on the outside to protect him, Jim. One misstep and he's gone. Simon and the others aren't stronger than this place."

"He's here now," added Claudia. "We can't change that."

Stiles watched the debate, quiet and guilty. It was his fault Blair had gotten in this far. Same as Derek.

"Then just do what you're hired for," said Stiles. "It'll keep you safe and out of the yard."

"That's not what I'm worried about here," said Blair.

"No, that's why it's what _we're_ worried about," said Jim.

They weren't getting through to him, Blair just shook his head and if anything looked more determined than before. Stiles crossed his arms, tried to ignore the stress eating at his gut and head. He watched as Blair and Jim went another few rounds of nowhere, decided it was a good thing the pair were friends because Jim was well past the point he would usually have shut down someone in the yard with a brawl.

The candles burned lower around the room, playing with shadows and making everything eerie. It reminded Stiles that they were in a burrow underground, buried, basically dead but still breathing. He heard every heart beating, without even trying he heard them all, and he compared it to the silence he remembered from Derek. They weren't dead yet. They were underground and living there, buried alive and still going. It wasn't what Stiles had ever wanted for his life. But he realized they were still alive even if only existing. That was defiance enough. They would just keep going. If an earthquake came along and brought trees down on their heads, they still _won_ : dead of natural causes and not part of some unnecessary, silent war.

They could handle the yard, they knew what to look out for when the Sanctuary wanted something and who to avoid to avoid their interference. They got fed. They had a bathroom and shower. They got clothes. All the basics to keep living were provided right there. It changed how Stiles thought, especially as he factored in how badly he didn't want to be responsible for someone else living or dying there because of him. He could give Derek that one get out of death free card but there wouldn't be one for Blair or Jim or even him or his mom. The stakes were so much higher.

"Just stop, okay?" Stiles' interruption caught attention and Blair looked over at him. "Just go back before you get in any more trouble."

"I need to know what they were looking for so I don't help them," Blair said.

"Talia said they'll do it again if they want. We'll just throw a rock at your window and let you know. You can supervise," returned Stiles. It came out a little harsh so he tried again. "Look, if you help them _find_ what they want then they won't be tearing anybody apart blindly looking, right?"

"Right," said Blair. He looked impatient more than like a man who believed what he was saying. "In theory. But I would still have to know what that is."

Stiles startled when Derek spoke up beside him. "They're trying to kill the wolf. They want to extract it, like a cancer, and they can't find it. So they poison it."

The news was met with silence. Everyone stared at Derek. Claudia edged closer to Talia like she wanted to say something but she stayed quiet. Talia looked from Derek to Blair.

"Then it worked," said Talia. "They already have it. That's what happened in the yard."

"What?" Stiles yelped. He hadn't seen the wolf in the yard, only Derek, bloody, and dead. " _He_ died! His _whole_ self, not just the wolf."

"You can't separate the pieces," said Talia. "Without one, the other dies."

"I couldn't hold the shift for the fight," said Derek. "It made it worse. Then the others broke it up because I was losing."

"And Stiles caught it in time to restore the spark after the fight exhausted what you had left," said Claudia.

Talia nodded. "Which means they figured out how to kill the wolf. The question is-"

"Do they know if it worked or not," said Blair, catching on. He nodded. "I'll see what I can find toward that end. Flood a little misinformation their way. I have an entire library to decode so there has to be something."

He turned to Jim. "See, that's all I needed. _Now_ you can take me back."

Jim huffed at him. " _Now_ you're assuming I want to."

"You will anyway," reasoned Blair. He waved in invitation toward the tunnel that would lead back out to the yard then tapped a finger to the wristwatch he wasn't wearing. "It was your idea. And I'm kinda on a schedule here..." Jim shut him up with an arm over his shoulders, pulling the shorter man into a fond hug before guiding him toward the exit.

Stiles and Derek started to follow but Talia cut them off. "You two stay down here the next few days. Let this blow over. You can go in at night. But _only_ with a group."

Stiles frowned at that but nodded; that had been his schedule the last few days anyway. Derek's agreement was a little more reluctant but Stiles threatened to tackle him if he had to.

"I've been stuck inside for a week," Derek said when they left, scowling at him for it.

"Yeah, same," said Stiles. He didn't really want to talk about it since neither of them had volunteered for the isolation. He moved over to the mess of blankets he had been sleeping on and tried to sort out how to make it big enough for two without losing any padding. He found Blair's backpack there in the middle of it.

"Shit," he grumbled. He snatched the bag and headed for the tunnels. "I'll be right back."

Derek argued the idea and Stiles argued back, because only one of the two of them had been recently dead in public and there was no way they were repeating that. It got him glared at but at least Derek stopped arguing. Stiles went up to the yard without him.

 

***

 

By the time he got there, free of the trees, Blair and his escort had already disappeared. It was broad daylight and Stiles' eyes were overly sensitive after a few days in the dark, but he could see around the yard just fine. The others were already inside. Highly aware of the other people in the yard between him and the doors, Stiles headed cautiously toward the cafeteria.

"What happened to your friend?" someone asked, startling Stiles. He'd turned the dials down trying to balance out the over-bright daylight and hadn't paid attention to the immediate area around him. And now Meyers stood by himself within a few steps easy reach.

"He passed out because he hadn't seen daylight in a week, thanks to you," Stiles said. He wanted a fight. He wanted a fight so badly his hands burned. But he just dropped the bag off his shoulder and held it by the straps. There were books inside and it was heavy enough to make a weapon.

"It sure took a lot of people to wake him up," said Meyers.

Whatever Stiles was going to say was wiped from his mind by a low growl from behind him. He turned even as Meyers looked past him, the both of them stepping back from a big, lean black wolf creeping up alongside Stiles. The long teeth were barred and the gravelly sound from it's throat meant just as much dangerous business. Stiles couldn't help but notice the wolf's attention was mostly on Meyers, the hackles raised and muscles ready to pounce. Stepping aside, Stiles looked between the two, considering. Then he grinned.

"I don't think he likes you," he said to Meyers. "Maybe you should stop hanging out at the grove. It's his Mom's territory anyway."

It was a total gamble but even if it wasn't Derek backing him up, Meyers wouldn't know that until the black wolf said otherwise. And starting it around that Derek came back more wolf than he left as a week earlier couldn't hurt a damn thing. It sent the message that the poisons didn't work, and a lie like that could save lives.

It worked, too, because Meyers turned and walked away. The wolf startled Stiles, grabbing the backpack straps near his hand and pulling him back toward the treeline. He didn't let go of the backpack until Stiles was inside the den again. Then the wolf started herding him, brushing against his legs, head butting his hip, steering him toward the space where Stiles had found the backpack. He found Derek's shredded shirt in a pile with his jeans not far from the wadded up jacket that Stiles had been using for a week.

"So this is new," Stiles said to the wolf. Like it was no big deal. Like this was a natural thing for a person to do after a narrow scrape with death by poison. Like his adrenaline-spiked brain wasn't _freaking out_. When Derek shoved at him with his head again in a clear hint, Stiles dropped into the pile of scrap-blankets and sat up against the wall. Derek stood over his shoes, big wolfy head hunched between his shoulders to stare Stiles in the face.

Common wisdom was to never start a staring contest with a dog or wild animal, it issued a direct challenge. And wild animals tended to win those thanks to the natural advantages of teeth and claws. But Stiles just stared back at the blue eyed wolf waiting on him. And he grinned. Because that wasn't a wolf; it was Derek and that was _so damn cool_. He reached out to scratch at the big furry forehead in blatant provocation. If Derek was waiting for him to curl up and cry in fear then he was going to be waiting awhile.

"You can switch back, right? You know how to do that part too?" He asked. "Because I always wanted a dog but I'm totally not kissing one like that. Ever. No offense."

It caused offense, however playful, and Derek jerked his head from under Stiles hand just enough to grab his wrist in his jaws. Then the stare-down began in earnest because he didn't let go, just enough pressure to keep hold. Stiles was still keenly aware that he sat at the dangerous end of the teeth.

But he could hear Derek's heartbeat. Wolf or not, he was still _Derek_. The sound was well past familiar to Stiles now; he heard it in his sleep. And the heartbeat said Derek was scared, though there was no way to know what about. Stiles couldn’t rely on chaotic super-senses for that, he could only guess.

Mindful of the sharp teeth hanging on, Stiles carefully pulled his arm back, making Derek either move or let him go. He stumbled over Stiles' legs as he was towed in and Stiles caught him in a hug around the neck. The wolf teeth let go of his arm to flop into the hug. He was heavy and pinned Stiles pretty effectively draped over his legs.

For now they were safe and it calmed them down after the stressful afternoon they had both barely survived. So of course Derek fell asleep within minutes. He tucked his head between a shoulder and Stiles' stomach, long nose nestled down under his arm. And suddenly Stiles was stuck sitting up against a tree root with zero ability to move without waking the _actual_ un-dead.

To kill time, the backpack he had failed to return was hefted over against his side. Poking around in it, he found the first aid kit of herbal origins that Blair had used earlier. The books he had expected, textbooks that Stiles didn’t pay much attention to. His focus was on an iPad and a charger, as well as a five-subject notebook and a binder full of printed papers. Some looked like photos. Others had numbers on them, statistical data on people and machines, hand drawn sketches and marked out sections on floor plans.

Stiles stared at the mess of papers he had spread out on Derek and on the blankets as he tried to make sense of it all. The backpack was an info-dump. They would have been slightly better off if Blair had left them the actual keys to the front door, but Stiles was certain they could work with _this_.

He sorted the papers carefully back into their binder and then tucked everything back into the backpack. It was his now. Blair had left it. Stiles claimed it and everything in it.

That was just how it worked at the Sanctuary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~ The End! ~~
> 
> _...but yeah, this is part of a series so the 'verse ain't dead yet either..._


End file.
